The Blasted Fate
by DontAbandonHope
Summary: Sixteen years after Eragon and Saphira left, someone decides to use one of the Forbidden Spells - Du Wydra Nángorörh. Turns out Eragon and Saphira failed to eliminate all the threats and problems when they destroyed the Empire.
1. Prologue

A/N : _this is my attempt at a multi-chpt fic set post-inheritance. I've only uploaded the prologue because the rest is still being written and I'd like to know if people would actually be interested in this story or if it's just going to be a waste of my time. So let me know what you think, if it's not too much trouble :)_

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A cold, sharper and more intense than any other settled into his bones as he stood watching the sky. Like other worldly watchers, the stars paid him no attention as he waited and simply watched as the frost bitten night wore on. His breath rose in a mist before him, swirling into nothingness as it was swept away into the darkness. _Soon_, he told himself. _It'll happen soon._

Afraid that he'd miss it, he refused the desire to move about in order to wake up his cold numb limbs. He denied his two apprentices such indulgences too. _Soon._ It had to be soon …

It had taken a long time for them to get here: he'd spent the past decade and a half watching and waiting for the signs the king told him would be there. It was one of the main reasons – other than the control – that the man had been searching for the true name of the ancient language. Without that name what the king intended for him to do was impossible.

A biting wind tore through his hair and tugged at his clothes as a cloud passed over the moon, obscuring the faint light and throwing them into darkness. Dawn was little more than an hour away. A movement beside him caught his attention: "Be still." He hissed at the dwarf on his right. The Urgal on his left glanced at his fellow but otherwise remained as he was; still and silent standing guard over the lonely hill top.

_Not long now_, he told himself. All the signs, all the calculations and so forth had pointed to this day – this night. He couldn't have possibly got it wrong. If he was wrong then he was on his own and alone he could not do what the king wanted done; the two apprentices at his sides were barely adequate for the purpose of tonight's ordeal.

A ghostly shape blotted out half the sky as three dragons drifted towards them and settled down on the frost covered ground behind their Riders. "Master," the dwarf attempted in a voice fearful of reprimand.

"What?" why couldn't the dragons of hatched for humans or elves like they should? What use were dwarves? Urgals were no more than simple-minded beasts but at least they could follow an order and not question it all the damn time.

"How much longer do you intend for us to remain standing here freezing to death?"

"Until I say so," he looked at the dwarf and resisted the temptation to hit him. "Now be still and shut up!" A low growl from his dragon affirmed his statement and the two apprentices grew still as statues and silent as graves as they returned to their watch of the night.

_How much longer _are _we going to wait?_

_Sunrise._ He grunted shortly in his mind in response to the dragon's question.

_Do you think we got it wrong?_

_We can't have. We checked and double checked everything: it's tonight._

_Tonight is almost over._ The dragon pointed out; he got no reply.

Sixteen years he had waited. The chances of him actually achieving what he intended to do were slim, yet if he had done everything right – and he was certain he had – then there would be no reason for failure. To use one of the Forbidden Spells, as he was about to, was to open your very soul and life force to the fabric of pure magic. Magic permeated the air and held together everything that made up the world; what he intended to do would tear a hole through all that and open up a bridge – a pathway – between this world and the next.

In other words, he intended to bring the dead back.

And it was possible only because his brother had been stupid enough to let him alone. But that wasn't important right now, he'd thank that brother soon enough … the fool should've realised that there was no redemption – no way back to the life and ideals he'd once held on to – for him. The king had forced him to become a man he no longer had any reason or desire to change. Because the man he was now wasn't treated like something unpleasant on the bottom of a boot.

_If you can't be loved,_ he reasoned. _Settle for being feared._

The pale light of dawn was fast approaching and still nothing had happened. He could not begin the incantation until the phenomenon occurred. Scrolls and books and stores of knowledge he alone had found and knew of had informed him – nay _taught_ him – that the lights he was waiting for were a result of that other world – the void – pressing against the walls of this one. The lights were the wards of living protecting their world from the dead. Yet if he achieved what he envisioned then the pathway he would create would also bring life back into whomever walked it. It was … dangerous magic … forbidden magic … it was Du Wydra Nángorörh …

He shook his head. Where were they? Records told him that the phenomenon only occurred on this day every seven years. He couldn't afford to wait that long; his brother and the others were bound to be getting suspicious by now. The sense that something was amiss in the world was after all, mounting and increasing day by day. Surely they'd of realised the hatchlings were missing by now? Or did they assume that they'd encountered some misfortune and died?

As the sun peeked over the horizon he gave up. The moment he turned away in disgust the Urgal let out a coarse yell; "Look!"

Spinning on his heel, and nearly slipping on the icy ground, he saw it at last. The lights. The brightening sky was awash with colours of every hue writhing around the lofty ceiling of the world. Almost like a hoard of dragons were obscuring the atmosphere or a living rainbow had appeared. For a moment they all stood and stared at the sky; drinking in the mystery and majesty of what they were witnessing before he jerked his senses back to reality and why they were there.

Uttering curt commands to the dwarf and Urgal beside him, he wasted no time. Taking a deep breath, aware that he had until the lights ceased, he began to chant in the ancient language. Words and formulas and phrases forbidden flew from his tongue as he let the darkest and rawest of magic loose upon that place where two worlds collided. For ten full minutes he spoke, until, with a noise incomprehensible, soundless and numbing, a ripping vibrating tear appeared in the sky.

Almost as if a giant had forced his fingers through the wall of the world and jerked it apart with little regard for what he'd just done. A jagged, frayed and irregular hole hung in the air as he began the second spell. The dwarf beside him dropped to the ground dead and a moment later so did his dragon. He gritted his teeth and reached out all around him to any and every source and store of energy he could find and thus use to maintain the spell.

Trees as old as time itself withered and died as grass shrivelled and animals – from the tiny to the gigantic – keeled over as their life force was sucked out of them like a leech draining blood. The very ground he stood on yielded and surrendered and died as he searched and found and claimed more and more energy. He cared not where it came from; if it was in his grasp it was his to use. The discovery that such a method was possible was not as significant as it would've been had he not of been in the midst of breaking apart reality; he wondered if the king had known about this trick.

And still it craved more. More than he had and more than he was able to find. Just as the cold reaches of fear gripped his gut as he suddenly realised that he might've gone too far, the magic ceased and the tear was filled with a blinding light unlike any ever seen before. He threw a hand up to shield his eyes as everything around them was bathed in that glow. His dragon hissed at the brightness. The magic took hold and the drop in his strength was beyond measure as he staggered to his knees and the Urgal and his dragon fainted.

Squinting, he saw the unmistakeable silhouette of a man striding towards them out of that breach. Unable to make anything out about who it was, he dragged himself upright and watched through shaded eyes as the man approached. Abruptly the light dimmed and ebbed away until it was nothing more than a tear in the sky filled with incomprehensible possibilities and danger.

In the unexpected dim light of dawn, he turned his gaze upon the figure who'd just so casually strolled out of the void and death. A moment's contemplation as they studied one another; the recently dead man gazed at the sword on his hip and then to the red dragon behind him before opening his mouth and speaking: "You learnt your lessons well I see … son."

"You weren't supposed to come through!" he spat back. This was _not_ what he'd intended at all and not what had been planned.

A chill smile stretched across his father's lips. "The king was unable to make it across. Something to do with what that _Shadeslayer_ boy did. But no fear, my son, we can build an Empire greater than he was ever capable of doing!"

Eragon jerked awake and sat bolt upright, tearing himself away from the dream. His heart racing, he gazed around the room with long disused battle senses ready, aware of his clammy skin and heaving chest. Saphira grunted in her sleep as she shifted to a more comfortable position on the over large cushion. A small smile lit his face as he beheld her. _A dream,_ he mused, lying back down on the bed. _Nothing more._

Moments later his regular breathing and heartbeat once more filled the room in a comforting harmony with Saphira's as he settled back to sleep in the arms of his companion. She murmured something in her sleep and reached out to him as he allowed slumber to claim him. _A dream … just a dream …_


	2. Only A Dream

_It's still on your mind isn't it?_ Saphira asked as Eragon continued to pace the room as he had been doing ever since he woke up. Still plagued by flashes from the dream that had woken him, he'd climbed out of bed at dawn and started pacing the room. _That dream you had last night._

_I can't seem to shake it._ He admitted, _No matter how hard I try._ Again he saw the sky tearing apart and the figure striding purposefully out of that breach and back into life. _Du Wydra Nángorörh_, he mused. _Why dream about that? Oromis told me those spells have been forbidden since before the time of the Grey Folk. _

_It was just a dream Eragon._

_It didn't feel like a dream._ Sighing, he strode out of the house and stopped in the doorway and surveyed his friends – because that's what they were – in the common area. They had sailed across the sea for well over three weeks before arriving at an expanse of untamed land bigger than any of the other's they'd already sailed past. Upon deeming the uninhabited island safe, Eragon and the elves had set about creating a home for themselves. By singing in the ancient language, they had persuaded the young trees in the forest upon the beach to form and create homes for them all.

They had also stumbled across a large quantity of rose quartz on the other side of their little haven and the elves had taken a child-like delight in using the stone to enhance and expand upon the natural beauty of the landscape. The result was a settlement grown from the trees with the buildings partially made from the gem stone. Still unnamed after sixteen years, the settlement was set out in a haphazard semi-circle at the edge of the beach where the forest began; they'd only realised that was so after the buildings had all been completed. The space between the homes and the sea was referred to as the common and Saphira spent much of her time lying in the yellow sand, basking in the sun drifting into a doze to the sound of the waves crashing gently upon the shore.

The ship they'd sailed upon been left to anchor a little way off-shore and a make-shift jetty had been crafted so that they were able to unload all their belongings and served as a convenient way for Eragon to get to and from his sleeping quarters without getting his feet wet. He had insisted that the elves all saw to their own places to dwell first and hadn't ever felt the need to relocate to the island himself. Perhaps it was because he felt the need for a little solitude or because he was unwilling to settle down. Either way the elves chose not to comment on his choice since he and Saphira joined them every evening round the fire on the beach; it didn't really matter all that much where the Rider slept.

Eragon stepped out of Lëyri's house and noticed that she wasn't among those lounging about by the water's edge. Generally the group scattered throughout the day, once breakfast had been consumed, to reconvene when the sun began to set, although she rarely ventured far from their settlement these days. Part of him wished he'd just gone straight back to the ship last night; he should've known that Lëyri would end up persuading him to stay with her. He'd only gone to tell her – for about the hundredth time – that they couldn't go on as they were since it was unfair to her, but as had happened every time he'd attempted to break it off before she somehow managed to convince him to stay another night.

The truth of it was simple: he did not love her. But no matter how often he tried to tell her, she refused to listen – she ignored it. To add to all the complication between them, Lëyri was little over three months away from giving birth to his child. Eragon's feelings towards Lëyri may only be those on par to what he'd felt for Nasuada and Katrina, but the child inside her he loved with all his heart. Saphira still liked to tease him about his reaction to the news when she was running dry on ammunition to tease him with.

His thoughts drifted across the expanse of water separating them and he wondered how _she _would react to his current situation. No doubt decide her plea for time proved the correct decision and refuse to hear him out on why it happened in the first place. Lëyri had come to him, not the other way around and at the time all he'd wanted to do was forget that which he'd left behind and for a little while she had been the answer. Only he couldn't forget. Blödhgarm and the other elves had long since given up – as had Eragon in all honesty – trying to get through to the elf that Eragon didn't really want her.

Saphira suspected that Lëyri knew perfectly well how Eragon felt and that she simply didn't want to give up being able to say that she was with the man who'd saved the world. Saphira didn't like Lëyri; and the only reason the dragon tolerated her was because the woman was currently pregnant with her Rider's unborn child. But Eragon had dismissed Saphira's dislike of Lëyri as nothing more than jealousy over the fact she had to share him with someone other than _her_ a long time ago.

Ever since declaring in no uncertain terms that she was pregnant, Lëyri had been insisting on her and Eragon sharing their true names with each other – on account of the child, she had attempted to explain her reasoning over why, because in the elven culture having a child was the ultimate vow of love. His excuse as to declining the proposal was that Saphira had said a flat out no before Lëyri had even finished her sentence; the dragon didn't trust her enough it seemed. Even without Saphira saying no, Eragon wouldn't have told her who he was anyway. Only Saphira, Glaedr and _she_ knew who he really was and he didn't trust himself with anyone else.

He was mildly relieved that Lëyri wasn't anywhere nearby right now; he doubted he could stand the bickering between her and Saphira. It was all they seemed to do at the moment and he'd taken to walking the forest on their island seeking refuge from it and he wasn't the only one. The other elves had all grown tired of the dragon and the elf arguing over Eragon night and day and many were bitterly wishing they'd stepped in when it became clear that Lëyri was out to claim the Rider as her own.

Aside from the squabbling between Lëyri and Saphira, the group all got along like a house on fire and the only arguments and disagreements were over petty issues like whose turn it was to help Saphira clean her teeth and who hadn't gone to keep the eldunarí company in a while. Petty arguments that were over as swiftly as they'd arisen. All save the one between Saphira and Lëyri. But he had more pressing things to worry about than Lëyri and their situation for once.

Blödhgarm spotted him and sidled over to where Eragon stood watching the sea. "I take it then, that your conversation last night didn't quite go to plan?"

Eragon grunted. He and Blödhgarm had become good friends over the past few years; that weary respect for another warrior had gone now that he wasn't in charge of protecting Eragon and Saphira from harm every minute of every day. "It's not like she doesn't know I feel nothing other than friendship for her," he complained.

"Lëyri doesn't seem to care all that much," the elf pointed out. "Because she has you at her beck and call on account of the child." Blödhgarm frowned then, "do you want to love her?"

The Rider sighed, "I've tried to Blödhgarm. Believe me; I've tried and tried more times than I care to admit to love her. The simple fact is that I don't."

"You can't force love, Shadeslayer," he said philosophically. "As long as you love the child, isn't that all that really matters?" Eragon shrugged in agreement. "Besides," Blödhgarm added, "I think your problem lies with a certain Rider and her dragon back in Alagaësia."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But what good can that come to? When there has been not a word from them – or anyone else for that matter – in sixteen years? And when the child comes to question why I am not with Lëyri can I really admit to wanting to be with a woman I cannot have?"

"Does Lëyri know?" Blödhgarm asked after a moment.

For some reason, Eragon found that hilariously funny; "Doesn't everybody know?" He sobered, "She knows and hates me for it because it's not her."

"You do know that we were all taking bets to see how long it'd take the pair of your to come to your senses don't you?" Blödhgarm told him.

Eragon raised an eyebrow at him, "I do now."

"How the two of you continued to spar as you were despite all the sexual tension hovering between you both I'll never know …"

Shaking his head Eragon said; "What about all the times it was just the two of us in my tent? Nothing happened but I can recall a time when something could have easily of happened – if Murtagh and Thorn hadn't decided to invite Nasuada to visit Urû'baen that is."

They shared a small smile before the elf once again spoke; clearly he had a lot on his mind that morning. "If you don't mind me asking, why _did_ you two never … well … when you so clearly did?"

Eragon took a moment to formulate his thoughts; "She needed time," he told his friend softly, "only we had none." Blödhgarm placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder which he promptly shrugged off; he didn't want sympathy when he didn't deserve it.

They fell silent watching as a couple of elves waded out to the shallows and began to skip pebbles across the waves. "Will you attempt to end it again tonight?" Blödhgarm asked.

Eragon pulled a wry face, "Is there any point?"

_There is a point to everything, youngling._ Glaedr told them both.

_What would you have me do master?_

_Tell her the truth of how you feel._

_He has._ Saphira interjected. _She doesn't seem to want to take notice of that fact; it's far more entertaining for her to keep him miserable and devoted – so to speak – to her, especially when there isn't anyone here he'd rather be with and run off with._ Glaedr it seemed had no more words of wisdom to share for he withdrew back into himself and left them to it.

"There's something else bothering you Shadeslayer." His former guard said.

"Where are the hatchlings?" he asked. "Surely those eggs we left behind would've hatched by now? Unless – like the ones we have here – they refuse to do so."

"You don't think something's wrong do you?" Blödhgarm asked. "Back home I mean."

_Back home._ Yes, Alagaësia would always be home to them. "I don't know … something seems …" he paused, searching for the right words. "I can feel a tenseness in the air around us – like the world is preparing for something big; something major. Everything seems about three seconds away from breaking apart and imploding. Perhaps the dragons sense that in their eggs and are waiting for things to settle before emerging … I do not know."

"All seems well on the surface," Blödhgarm told him. "When I scry home, all seems well and peaceful."

Eragon shook his head as Saphira spoke, lifting her head out of the sand. _But scratch that surface and what will you find? A sense that something doesn't seem quite right: the smallest thing might be out of the ordinary and yet create a chain of events that cannot be undone. Something overlooked or missed or forgotten about because of irrelevance at the time bubbling to the surface and tipping the balance once more in the wrong direction._

"Meaning?"

"That we might not have eliminated all the threats and solved all the problems when we over threw Galbatorix." Eragon explained. He shook his head, "Someone needs to find out what's happening back home," he murmured half to himself before he trailed into silence, watching Saphira as worry and doubt gnawed at his belly.

"I will." Eragon looked at his friend.

"I wasn't serious."

"But it's necessary all the same." Blödhgarm insisted. "I can return and seek out Kings Orik and Orrin and speak with Queens Nasuada and Arya. I can ask them how fairs the land and send word once I have an answer for good or ill."

Eragon had tried hard not to blink when he had heard _her_ name.

_He speaks sense, youngling._ Umaroth the eldunarí said. _And if all is not well then we can return and put right the balance as we are wont to do._

"How will you get there?" Eragon demanded.

The elf grinned. "Magic, Shadeslayer. Magic." Eragon rolled his eyes.

"What? You're going to levitate yourself back?" there was a twinkle in Blödhgarm's eye. "But it's a three week voyage!" he protested.

"There are small islands – too small to inhabit – dotting the ocean out there; we passed them on our way here and you and Saphira have even visited the nearer ones. If I recall they are roughly a day apart from each other, more or less." He smiled, "I would be able to stop for the night and regain my strength while I slept. If you'll allow me to take an eldunarí or two with me then the journey might even take less time."

_It would work Eragon._ Glaedr told him. _Blödhgarm, if all _is_ well then Arya and Fírnen should accompany you back here. Islanzadí's daughter has tarried on the Knotted Throne overlong as it is; we all know she has not the patience to cope with the niceties of elven politics._

Saphira shifted at the mention of her long lost mate but otherwise – as Eragon had done – didn't let Blödhgarm see the names affect her.

"As you wish, ebrithil," he looked at Eragon. "When do you want me to leave?"

Eragon knew he'd been beaten on this and so gave up and relented; "Tomorrow. Let us not waste time. You can ask about the hatchlings – or lack of – while you're convincing the queen that Glaedr says she should abdicate." Actually saying her name himself, he decided, was too much.

"A task I am not looking forwards to," Blödhgarm grinned "No doubt she's giving Lord Däthedr no end to grief!" Eragon and Saphira watched their friend as he slipped into his house to begin preparations to leave for Alagaësia. If all went well, he'd be back in a couple of months with Arya and Fírnen.

_If all goes well and my dream was just a dream._ Eragon mused.

_And if it isn't a dream?_ Saphira asked.

_Don't ask me that – the prospect doesn't bear thinking about._ Eragon said shortly, _the dead are dead for a reason and no one should have the power to alter that._


	3. Free For A Day

Arya supressed a yawn as she endured yet another long day of irrelevant meetings and decisions and all manner of other meaningless tasks that never seemed to be done. No sooner as one responsibility was upheld and seen to, another sprang forth to demand her attention immediately. Her day was filled with the pointless and the unimportant. She'd discovered very quickly after allowing Däthedr and the rest to put the crown upon her head that her kingdom didn't actually _need_ to be governed since it pretty much ran itself with or without her help.

And so thinking that she'd be able to spend her days with Fírnen, Arya had soon been proven wrong when it came to her attention that her time was filled with every dull and needless task. Those perfectly capable of making important decisions would always go to her first, ask her opinion and what she wanted done and then, more often than not, go ahead with what they'd originally planned in the first place. It was enough to make her want to throttle the lot of them, or else give up entirely and walk away; she was not cut out for the whole sitting back and letting others do everything for her. She refused to let anyone other than herself dictate the course of her life … it was why she'd fall out so spectacularly with her mother in the first place.

_Pay attention._ Fírnen chided.

_You're not the one who's stuck here listening to all this rubbish! Why do they insist on always asking my permission before leaving this forest? Do they honestly expect me to say no?_ She complained.

_They just want an excuse to see their queen,_ he smirked.

_I don't feel like their queen,_ she murmured to him.

_That's because you still see Islanzadí as queen._

Arya couldn't deny the truth of his words; her mother would always be the queen in her eyes. For as long as she could remember, she had run away from the decision of whether or not to follow in her mother's footsteps. Run away from it because she figured that so long as Islanzadí was alive and well, a choice never needed to be made. So she hadn't made it. Until that fateful day when the news was given to her, Arya had never, not once, entertained the thought of her mother dying. But she pulled away from that thought – of that day – because that would only lead to thought about _him_.

_She will always be queen Fírnen._

_What was she like?_

_Again? You've seen my memories of her countless times._ For indeed had she shared with him the scarily few memories she had of her mother and of everything that had happened before him. He alone knew _exactly_ what had happened during her time in Gil'ead at the hands of the Shade Durza … but she pulled away because thinking about Durza would lead to thinking about how the Shade had been killed at _his_ hand.

_But you never tire showing them to me._

_Let me send this idiot on his way first._ With a cautionary word from Fírnen to be nice, Arya surveyed the elf standing before her explaining why it was he was requesting permission to leave Du Weldenvarden. Arya hadn't heard a word of what he'd said. "The treaty I have with Nasuada and Orik allows you – all of us – to walk among the lands of the dwarves and humans unmolested. You don't need permission to go and see the world and I certainly won't deny that to you."

With a stammered thank you, the elf – Arya hadn't caught his name – was led out of the audience chamber by Däthedr and another was directed to take his place. She suppressed a groan; how many more were there? It was the first day of summer – the skies were clear and bright and cloudless – and she wanted nothing more than to be out there enjoying it. Instead she was shut away in Tialdarí Hall, sat upon the Knotted Throne – which had proven to be far less comfortable than it had always appeared – listening to unnecessary petitions from her people to go out and see the world beyond their forest.

"Däthedr," she called. The elf lord strode across the chamber and inclined his head. "Can you just bring them all in at once so I can get this pointless task over and done with? We all know that they don't need my permission to leave."

He looked slightly affronted over the prospect of overlooking the norm, but did as his queen commanded and ushered the rest inside. There was a rather hefty amount of them. Cutting across before any of them could speak she repeated what she had told the elf before and dismissed them less than three sentences later. She knew it wasn't the courteous way to have done things, but the endless repetition of _nothing ever happening_ was chafing her and she needed to be free, even if it was just for a few hours.

"I'm going to pay for not indulging in their petty requests to gain a private audience aren't I?" she guessed as her friend and advisor closed the door behind the last elf.

"The only reason they still petition is because it's possibly the only chance the common folk have of seeing and meeting our beautiful queen."

"You know flattery doesn't get you anywhere with me, Däthedr. I'm not my mother."

He smiled a tolerable smile at her, "No," the lord agreed. "You most certainly are not. You've held your position for little more than sixteen years and given me more grief than your mother did in a hundred." Arya allowed a small laugh at that.

"Can we at least begin to phase out these ridiculous audiences? It's time for our people to be walking freely around Alagaësia once more." She pleaded.

Däthedr sighed and gave in, "I shall see to it," he promised as Arya stood up and headed towards the doors out into the gardens. He fell into step beside her in a contemplative silence before uttering; "And?"

Arya stopped and turned to face him. "How did you know there was an 'and'?" she queried.

_Because there's always an 'and' with you._

_Shut up Fírnen._

_Yes your majesty._

_Fírnen!_

"Call it intuition," he smiled.

"Fine. _And_ I think we should look to start opening our own boarders now that Orik has finally relented to Nasuada's pleas. It's only a matter of time before they start on at us and we might as well set the wheels in motion now so as to speed the process along slightly." At Däthedr's look Arya sighed and said in a gentle voice; "It was inevitable my friend. I am not suggesting we allow roads and what not to be carved into the forest, but perhaps the likes of Ceris and Osilon could be made more accessible to humans and dwarves that want to visit?"

"And when King Orrin demands his people have access to Ellesméra?"

"Let us cross that bridge when we come to it." Arya advised as they stepped out into the gardens. Fírnen lifted his gigantic head off the ground from where he'd been snoozing in the midday sun and looked over at her, the question of a thought reaching across the distance between them.

"You're going to run off again aren't you?"

Arya, already halfway towards her dragon, turned on her heel and smiled up at the elven lord. "What gave it away?"

"Your choice of wardrobe; you'd be in a dress if you were planning on staying put." There was the faintest hints of disapproval in his voice and Arya felt twinges of guilt at so lightly abandoning who she was.

_And what about the fact that you abandon what we are every day you sit on that lump of twisted wood?_

_Hush Fírnen,_ Arya soothed. "I may be the queen, but I am also a Rider – and I was a Rider before you made me queen. Never forget that Däthedr."

He sighed, "How can I? With Fírnen Swiftwing lounging about the gardens as he does," this got a growl out of the emerald dragon as he shifted to his feet in anticipation of Arya clambering up into the hollow between his neck and shoulders which was her customary place. He shook his head, "Go; I shall hold the fort if need be it … 'tis a far too beautiful day to be wasted indoors."

Arya smiled at her friend; he looked tired. Walking towards him she reached up and kissed his cheek before spinning on her heel and running towards Fírnen. Leaping lightly onto his leg she sprang up onto his back and settled into place as he heaved his massive girth into the air with a single bound. _Why did you do that?_

_Do what?_

_Kiss him._

Arya shrugged. _I like to keep him on his toes … it's good for him._

_Is that just it though?_ Fírnen asked.

_Yes it is!_ She snapped at him, angry that he always assumed such thoughts whenever she acted a little differently around any man she was familiar with. _When will you stop pestering me about it?_

_When you admit to yourself that you have always loved him._ Fírnen shot back, spreading his wings out to catch an updraft and allowed it to waft them high above the tree tops.

_I am _not_ in love with Däthedr!_

_I wasn't talking about Däthedr._ That brought Arya up short as she realised Fírnen wanted to talk about _them_. In sixteen years, they had so far managed to avoid talking too much about _them_; it always ended up with Arya and Fírnen wondering if they had made the right choice in staying behind. Long periods – often years – would go by without _them_ being mentioned by name, if at all, until one of them initiated the somewhat dreaded conversation for one reason or another.

_Not now,_ she whispered. _Let's not ruin the day … please._

He was silent for a long while. _Tell me about your mother again._

Thankful for the change of topic of conversation, Arya recounted what she could recall of her mother and the infrequent times she'd spent in her company. She hadn't stopped that other conversation she knew, only stalled it until another time and she knew that Fírnen wouldn't let her wriggle out of talking about them next time; he would wait until she had nothing left to stall with and pounce. Truth was, she didn't like talking about _them_ – well _him_ – too much because he was yet another person she had lost in that war and another person whose absence was a constant ache in her chest. Arya hadn't realised just how badly she would miss him until he'd already gone … even now whenever something happened she automatically looked to see his reaction only to find the space where he should be empty.

If it was love then what was the point in admitting it when there wasn't anything she could do about it? He had left sixteen years ago and there had been no word of him since. The pair of them might as well have vanished into thin air and become no more than myths for all the good it did. Coupled with the fact that the wild dragon eggs weren't hatching and the sense that she was missing something important – something vital – Arya began to wonder if this peace they were experiencing was just a false sense of security. There were times when she could feel … something … building and building as if waiting for the right moment to implode. She knew that Fírnen felt it too for their meaningless flights had become not as meaningless as they searched the surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.

The only out of the ordinary thing was the lack of anything happening … or maybe that was just her not used to and not suited to peace. She'd grown up in war and in a world fraught with danger at every turn; knowing that it was perfectly alright to walk around what used to be the Empire unarmed and openly as the elf she was just seemed … strange and unnerving. Despite the peace she never went far without her sword or her bow close at hand. Old habits die hard it seemed.

_I wonder how the hatchlings are getting along._ Fírnen mused.

Two eggs had been left behind and given to the dwarves and Urgals in preparation for the first Riders of their races. Ten years ago the first, a violent purple egg, had hatched to an Urgal by the name of Yerzogr. As had been planned, Arya and Fírnen did their best to tutor them in the ways of their Order. With the help of the eldunarí that had remained behind, the dragon and Rider had been brought to Ellesméra for their training. Six months later the second egg – a hazelnut brown one – had hatched for a dwarf of Orik's clan.

Orik had escorted the new dragon and Rider to Ellesméra himself and for the next two years they had stayed in the leafy city learning what Arya could teach them. She was by no means a teacher on par with the likes of Oromis or Brom … and in terms of secrets only the Riders knew she could only scratch the surface for Oromis had let slip only a handful of the less important ones to her all those years ago. But she had tried and the two apprentices had appreciated her efforts which made it all that bit easier.

When the day had come to send them on their way to _them_, Arya and Fírnen had found it a rather morbid occasion. The hatchlings had thanked them and praised them and asked why they did not accompany them just for a visit. It had been difficult to refuse the suggestion. When the two dragons and their Riders had gone the world suddenly seemed so much emptier than ever before and it had come as a surprise to Arya and Fírnen to discover that they missed the routine of endlessly drilling the two young Riders.

_Probably learning secrets and branches of magic we never will._ Arya shrugged.

_It'd be nice to have another pair of hatchlings to teach._

_It would,_ Arya agreed, _but the only eggs that remain here are wild eggs. Eragon …_ she faulted over the name – _his_ name – and took a deep breath …_ he said he'd send more through with the spell I used to transport Saphira's egg out of harm's way when Durza captured me._ She was surprised that she'd been able to say all three names in the same sentence without her voice breaking.

_Only he hasn't._

_No._

_There will be a reason, Arya,_ Fírnen consoled. _By your own accounts of him, and from what I saw of him for the short time we met, he never did anything – or didn't do something – without good reason._

_Eragon's sense of good reason … _Arya shook her head, _was skewed somewhat by the simple fact of being Brom's son._

_You wouldn't have changed him for the world._ Fírnen told her very quietly.

Arya said nothing for a long time as they drifted among wisps of tattered clouds. _No,_ she agreed. _I wouldn't have change him at all._


	4. Thinking In Moonlight

Agitated and unable to settle, Eragon rolled out of bed and grabbed his shirt before leaving the cabin of the ship and making his way onto the deck where Saphira usually slept. However tonight she was off hunting in the bright pale moonlight and out of reach to settle his thoughts and nagging worries. Clambering over the railing, Eragon dropped down to the jetty and paced his way to shore as the sea swirled calmly and the occasional owl hooted.

The dying embers of the fire were still glowing, and Eragon spotted the odd light through the windows of his friends' homes. He quickly ducked behind the pile of drift wood they had collected as the door to Lëyri's house opened and she stepped out, glancing around; her abdomen swollen as the child grew inside her. Evidently deciding that there was nothing to see, she returned inside and Eragon heard the echo of her door slamming and winced.

Skirting round the edge of the dwellings, he slipped into the forest unseen and pulled his shirt over his head. The ground was cold beneath his bare feet, and there was a definite chill in the breeze wafting in from the sea. Eragon shivered and veered to the left, heading deeper into the young woods as the dim lights of his friends' homes vanished behind him.

Blödhgarm had left three days ago and yet Eragon was still unable to shake off that dream. A nagging sense and worry was eating away at his insides and ever since his friend had left, he'd become more and more convinced that something was drastically wrong; that he'd forgotten to do something important before leaving. Like leaving a candle alight or a door unlocked … Eragon lashed out at an overhanging branch before slipping between two slim silver-birch trees and emerging on the edge of a cliff overlooking a shimmering silver lake. In the stillness of the air around them, the surface reflected the sky and if it were possible to walk across that surface, one might imagine themselves walking on the very edge of the world.

He paused for a moment, drinking in the simplicity and beauty the pale moonlight was casting upon the surroundings. Yanking himself out of his reverie, Eragon set off down the narrow path on the face of the cliff, careful not to slip lest he fall to his death. Half way down the path – well crack in all honesty – ended. Muttering a dozen short phrases in the ancient language, he dug into the flow of magic and let the spells take effect. Just as a gust of wind threatened to unbalance him, an irregular opening in the cliff wall appeared and Eragon quickly ducked inside the cave where he and the elves had chosen to store the unhatched dragon eggs and the eldunarí.

_You bring with you a worrying unsettling, young Rider._ One of the countless dragons' consciousness's said by way of greeting.

_Forgive me, masters._ Eragon murmured, _I could not sleep._ He began to restlessly pace the cavern, unable to sit still as a restlessness and an urge to _do_ something crept over him.

_And what is it that troubles you so?_ Another asked. Only a handful of the eldunarí chose to speak with the elves that had accompanied him away from Alagaësia. Among them being Glaedr and Umaroth; the rest chose only to converse with Eragon and Saphira. Eragon suspected – and Umaroth had hinted – that was only because they were dragon and Rider. He'd long given up asking who it was speaking; sometimes he recognised the touch of a mind from a previous conversation, but more often than not he hadn't a clue who he was speaking with aside from Glaedr and Umaroth.

_Is it this situation with Lëyri?_ Glaedr asked.

_Not really. For once I have more pressing things to worry about than what she's going to do or say next._

_A problem shared often leads to a problem solved._ His master told him wisely.

_Is that one of Oromis's many phrases by any chance?_

He got a sense of amusement from the old dragon.

_Can't you feel it?_ Eragon asked then.

_Feel what youngling?_ An eldunarí replied – Eragon thought the voice came from a rosy pink orb three shelves up and four along from where Glaedr rested.

_Can you not feel the tightness in the air? Like the world is tensing up and preparing for something major – something big? Can you not feel the earth shudder, as if afraid one false move with become a catalyst for catastrophe? Do you not also get the feeling that we've missed something … that we've forgotten something or someone?_

The eldunarí all shifted uncomfortably – or at least they would if they could – as they pondered Eragon's words. For a long moment no one spoke as he continued to pace the cavern; the lights from the flameless lanterns used by dwarves and elves casting the many gem-like stones in a warm glow that seemed to mirror the colour of the eldunarí.

_Do you not feel as if there is something we should be doing? Something we should be fixing?_ He asked, more to himself than to the consciousness in the cave. Shaking his head, he slid to the floor with his back against the rough wall and sighed heavily with his head in his hands.

_You sent Blödhgarm back to Alagaësia with Umaroth three days gone, aye?_

_Aye. If there is something amiss then we will hear of it in a few weeks or so._

_By then it may be too late._ A deep voice of one of the older dragons rumbled. _Show us the dream._

Eragon blinked as a few younger eldunarí stammered, _What dream?_

_I dreamt of Du Wydra Nángorörh._ Eragon murmured softly.

_Show us the dream Eragon._ Glaedr said then in a voice that allowed no deviation from that command. Eragon did as he was told and shared with the eldunarí the dream that had been bothering him for the past four days.

_It was just a dream … wasn't it?_ He asked when the memories were over. The tense silence of the eldunarí was unnerving him. _Masters … ebrithilar …_ _it was just a dream …_

_No one just dreams of Du Wydra Nángorörh._

_What do you mean?_ Eragon asked, the pit in his stomach extending into an abyss to match that of the dragons' trepidation over Du Wydra Nángorörh.

_It was a warning._ Glaedr whispered, _A warning that if the breach is not closed – and soon – then it'll be the end of all that we know. You dreamt of the event because the wards of the world sought you out in one last attempt to protect the living …_

_We must close the breach._ Another eldunarí finished as Glaedr trailed off.

Standing and walking to the opening of the cave, Eragon called across the night with the power of the ancient language in his voice; _"Saphira!"_ and then in his mind so only she could hear, he called her again with her true name.

_I come._ Came the distant reply and he shivered. They had discovered that they could contact the other over vast distances even without feeling the presence of the other's mind by silently uttering the other's true name. They had never used such methods of communicating after discovering it and only in times of great need had they agreed that they could. The need was great now, Eragon had decided.

_Where is this breach?_ He asked the eldunarí, _And how am I meant to close it?_

_It'll take us all to aide you; and as for the spells … we can teach you._ The rosy pink eldunarí answered softly. _The location of the breach should be simple for there is only one place in all this land where the two worlds meet._

_Du Garjzla Arget._ Eragon finished, _Of course … it would be there._ The Silver Light was the name given to the phenomenon that occurred once every seven years in the eastern reaches of the Beor Mountains. It was said that the lights were the wards of the living repelling the walls of the void and keeping death and the dead at bay. Some said that the lights were the souls of men hammering at the wall of the world, desperate to return while others claimed the lights were the souls of the dragons slaughtered in the Fall and in the Dragon War.

Though Eragon knew not what the spell were, Oromis had at least outlined the basics of them and what they did. One spell tore a hole through the two worlds while the other caused a bridge into being to link them together. According to Oromis, rumour had it that if both spells were uttered correctly and if enough energy and power was given, then whomever walked that bridge would have life restored into them. Only the Riders were permitted knowledge of these spells, and even then the spells themselves were forbidden to all save those spells required to counter and to reverse Du Wydra Nángorörh.

_Return and pack your bags, Shadeslayer._ Glaedr told him then. _Let your friends know of our excursion and hope that we are not too late._

Eragon nodded, already half way back up the path to the top of the cliff. He muttered the spells to conceal the entrance to the cave as Saphira alighted on the dewy grass behind the two silver-birch trees. _How many of you will be accompanying us, ebrithilar?_ Saphira asked as Eragon clambered up her scaly leg to his place between her shoulders.

_All of us._ Was the short reply. _Now hurry younglings … time is of the essence here._

Launching herself into the sky, Saphira winged her way over the young forest and headed back to the ship as fast as she dared while Eragon sought out the mind of Adiré; Blödhgarm's young nephew. Rousing the elf from his dreams proved somewhat troublesome, and it took three rounds of Eragon and Saphira calling _Wake up Adiré! Wake!_ Before they got a response.

_Shadeslayer? Bjartskular?_

_There is something Saphira and I must do and all the eldunarí will be accompanying us. I'm leaving you in charge of watching the eggs alright?_

_Understood Shadeslayer …_ Eragon could sense Adiré's curiosity and grinned. Elves were, by their very nature, a curious race. _May I be permitted to know where you're going … and why?_

_To Du Garjzla Arget._ Saphira responded shortly, _because of Du Wydra Nángorörh._

_Ah._ Adiré was smart enough not to question any further. _I'll let the others know when they wake in the morning._

_Thank you Adiré._ Eragon murmured as Saphira landed on the deck of the ship, causing it to rock gently in the calm sea.

_Shur'tugal … what of my uncle?_

Eragon paused, sensing the young elf's concern. _Blödhgarm will be fine Adiré_, Glaedr assured him gently. _Now let us get on; there is little time to waste._

_I'll keep an eye on Lëyri for you, Eragon._ Eragon chose not to reply to that as he severed the connection with Adiré. Blödhgarm's nephew had been pinning after Lëyri ever since they'd set sail along the Edda River from Hedarth all those years ago.

_When did my life get so complicated?_ He wondered as he slipped below decks to his cabin. Letting out a small laugh he answered himself; _when I chose to take the egg with me rather than leave it behind in the Spine._

_I'd have been very put out with you if you _had_ left me behind._ Saphira snorted.

Grabbing his pack from under the bed, Eragon raced round the cabin, hastily shoving everything he thought he might need into it, along with the few items he didn't want to leave behind; like the fairth of his mother and the scroll Oromis had given him. Pulling on his boots and grabbing an extra shirt along with his cloak, Eragon gathered up his pack and shouldered aside his door before heading down the corridor to the pantry.

Filling the rest of the space in his pack with food, Eragon tied off the top and pulled on the extra clothing, absently rubbing the ring, Aren, as he pulled on his old leather gloves. From the pantry he climbed back to the deck and back onto Saphira, slinging the pack over his shoulder as he did so. She jumped into the air, causing the ship to shake and rock alarmingly, before heading once more to the cavern where they'd hidden the eldunarí.

Muttering the spells again, Eragon watched the opening appear as Saphira expertly landed in it; he'd made sure that there would be room for her – and any other dragon for that matter – to visit their ancestors directly if they wished to do so. Slipping to the floor, Eragon headed to the back of the cave were he'd stored Saphira's saddle and armour. _Just leave it here,_ she told Eragon when he asked about the armour. _I'm not about to lug all that around on the off chance we might need it._

_You'll regret not having it with you if things get nasty._

_I doubt I'd fit into it now anyway._ She pointed out and he had to agree with her as he set about strapping the saddle to her vast back. While he worked the eldunarí began teaching him the necessary spells to close the breach between the living and the void. Lashing his pack to the back of the saddle, Eragon sat back and murmured the spell that would deposit the eldunarí in their own pocket of space a few inches behind him. It'd been a long time since he had been required to use the spell, and he'd forgotten some of the words. Glaedr admonished him accordingly and the spell was successfully cast. The shelves that lined the walls looked oddly out of place now they weren't filled with row upon row of different hued eldunarí.

As Saphira shifted round to face the opening, Eragon returned to the back of the cave and pulled out a chest, covered with dust. He hadn't opened it since the day he'd put it here out of the way, half buried under Saphira's armour. Murmuring "Ládrin," he lifted the lid of the chest and paused for a long moment, as a torrent of memories swirled round his head.

"_Now that you share our strength, it seems proper that you should have one of our bows. I sang this myself from a yew tree. The string will never break. And so long as you use these arrows, you will be hard-pressed to miss your target, even if the wind should gust during your shot."_

Eragon lifted the bow and the quiver out of the chest and looked at it for a long moment. That Queen Islanzadí saw fit to have given him the labour of her own hands was more of a gift than the actual weapon itself. He slipped the quiver over his shoulder and settled it into place with a few shrugs before turning back to the chest.

"_Are you well pleased, Dragon Rider?" Rhunön asked._

"_More than pleased, Rhunön-elda," said Eragon, and bowed to her. "I do not know how I can thank you for such a gift."_

"_You may thank me by killing Galbatorix. If there is any sword destined to slay that mad king, it is this one."_

Curling his left hand round the glyph on the sheath, Eragon lifted the sapphire sword out of the chest and stood up, closing the chest with a word. He was aware that Saphira was watching him, and through her, the eldunarí. It had been sixteen years since he last wielded this blade. Slowly and deliberately, he placed his right hand round the hand-and-a-half hilt and paused for a moment, staring at the sapphire pommel.

"_Sword, I name thee Brisingr!"_

With a sudden urgency, he wrenched the blade out of the sheath and held it up to the lofty ceiling, staring at it intently. "I remember thee, my sword … Brisingr." At the sound of its name, as it had done every time since Eragon had named it, Brisingr burst into fire. The flames licking his hand harmlessly and casting a flickering light upon the cave. He severed the flow of magic and replaced his sword into its sheath before buckling the blade to his belt. The familiar weight at his hip was oddly comforting, and he hadn't realised how much he'd missed it over the past years.

_Let us be off._ Saphira said then, nudging him with her snout.

_Aye,_ he agreed. _Once more do Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales fly out into the night on some hare-brained errand to save the world._

* * *

A/N : _"Now that you share our strength..." is on page 556 of the hardback edition of Eldest, chapter entitled 'Gifts'_

_"Are you well pleased..." is on page 680 of the hardback edition of Brisingr, chapter entitled 'A Rider In Full'_


	5. Old Friends

The ground swept past them in a blur of greens and browns as Fírnen winged his way south as fast as he possibly could. Not for nothing had he been named 'Swiftwing' by the elves and so it was that by the time the sun began to set, they had left Ellesméra far behind. At Arya's urging, the great dragon continued on through the night for they couldn't afford to tarry when time was of the essence. A message on the scyring mirrors – Däthedr had finally managed to create a spell that circumvented Du Weldenvarden's wards enough for direct communication in such a way – had arrived from Ilirea that morning; Angela suspected that Nasuada would go into labour within the next couple of days and she would appreciate the assistance of a Rider in the delivery of the child.

Arya and Fírnen had left within the hour, once again leaving Däthedr no choice but to hold the fort and make excuses for the queen's absence. To Arya, it felt as though she'd left all her responsibilities behind her in Tialdarí Hall; Angela had asked for a Rider and a Rider she would get. That the herbalist was currently at the capital didn't surprise Arya that much for the witch had a knack and a habit of turning up in the most unexpected of places, usually whenever something interesting was about to occur. It was only natural, then, for her to spring up in time for the birth of Nasuada's second child.

_Will you need to rest, or do you think you can make it there in one go?_ Arya asked Fírnen.

_As long as we don't encounter any headwind in the desert I should be able to make it,_ he replied. _I suggest you wrap up warm – it's going to rain soon and I want to fly above these clouds to avoid it._

_I'll be fine._

_You'll be cold._ He countered as the swirling white mist of rain choked clouds obscured their surroundings. A moment or two later Fírnen rose above them and emerged into a clear, star strewn night. _You can rest if you want, I won't let you fall._

_I know you won't, but wouldn't you rather I stayed awake and kept you company?_

_Rest Arya, and recover from all the politics you're forced to play with Lord Fiolr and his opposition._ Murmuring a word or two in thanks, Arya laid her head against Firnen's neck and closed her eyes as she drifted off into a peaceful slumber, up there at the roof of the world where there was only her and Fírnen.

The next day passed uneventfully and they managed to avoid being seen from the ground by flying high above the clouds that were threatening the earth with an early summer shower; intense but brief. By noon the forest had disappeared and they were lost in the expanse of the Hadarac Desert below. Up ahead they could see a sandstorm brewing and a brief consult with Fírnen informed her that the dragon intended to alter his course west slightly to avoid it. It would mean losing half a day, but Arya knew that couldn't be helped. When night began to fall once again, and the sand miles below had begun to give way to a more solid footing she asked, _Why not rest for the night here? We can be in Ilirea by mid-afternoon tomorrow._

_No. I can do this._

_Fírnen … you don't have to prove yourself to me._

_I can do this!_

She gave up and said no more, letting her stubborn dragon prove that it was possible to fly from Ellesméra to Ilirea in one go. A journey that should take at least six days cut down to two and a half due to Firnen's sheer stubbornness. _You should be called Stubbornwing – not Swiftwing._ He elected to ignore her, although a snort of flames erupted from his nostrils in protest. Unlike the previous night, Arya stayed awake if only so she could keep an eye on Fírnen and stop him from hurting himself too much. _I swear Saphira never caused Eragon this much grief, _she muttered.

_That was because she was too busy with all the grief he was causing her!_

_Why doesn't that surprise me?_ Arya asked dryly.

_Because he caused you just as much trouble?_ He replied.

Arya sighed; that inevitable conversation seemed to have crept up on her without her realising. And naturally – just as Fírnen had planned – she had no excuse to prevent it. _Eragon's sole intention in life was to crawl through it backwards – just to because he could. He had the annoying habit of choosing the hard way out of a situation and ended up dragging whomever was stupid enough to stand too close to him down with him._

_Which was almost without exception always you._

_Someone had to watch his back … and I certainly didn't trust anyone else to watch mine._ The night was cloudless and there was definite chill in the upper reaches of the sky; Arya shivered before twisting in Firnen's saddle and digging through her pack for her cloak. Wrapping it round her shoulders she wondered if Eragon and Saphira were out enjoying the night or if they were wrapped up warm in bed wherever that may be … almost without her realising it, Arya's gaze turned east.

Thanks to his stubbornness and unnecessary need to prove himself, Arya and Fírnen arrived in Ilirea a couple of hours after the sun had risen on the third day of their journey. Sweeping over the city wall amid cries of 'Argetlam' and 'Shur'tugal' and 'Shadeslayer' and wondering if this was how Eragon had felt whenever people had cried out those names to him, Arya instinctively gripped the hilt of her sword before forcing herself to let it go again; there was no danger here. Waiting for Fírnen to settle down in the vast courtyard before the citadel, Arya spotted Jörmundur emerging from the vast door into the stronghold; it seemed the man had finally succumbed to the hold of time for his hair and beard were now iron grey and he carried himself with all the dignity of a proud veteran.

Jumping lightly to the ground, Arya swung her pack over her shoulder and placed a hand on Firnen's snout as he rested his great head upon the ground and closed his eyes. She could feel his weariness and also his pride in getting to Ilirea so quickly. _You fool …_ _rest; I'll ask Jörmundur to make sure no one disturbs you._

_Not even Bjartskular could've flown here as fast!_

_Oh I'm sure you'd have let her win; just so she didn't decide to turn away from you!_

He let out a small snort of flames and Arya laughed lightly before walking over to Jörmundur as he reached the bottom of the steps that led up to the main entrance. "You made it; good … Angela will be pleased."

"Did she threaten to have you throttled or something if I didn't turn up in time?" Arya guessed, allowing her old friend to lead the way round the back of the castle.

"Something like that … I must say I didn't think you'd get here so soon."

Arya rolled her eyes, "Fírnen wanted to prove it was possible to fly from Ellesméra to Ilirea without having to stop and rest. The stubborn fool wouldn't listen to me when I said that there was no real need." At this Jörmundur laughed and opened a small door half hidden behind a group of young birch trees in the gardens; he stepped back and let Arya walk through first.

"There are hoards of minor courtiers all loitering in the main halls – desperate to be seen speaking with the Elven Queen. Since I was instructed to bring you straight to Angela I thought it best we took the servants' route." The veteran said by way of explanation as he shut the door behind him.

"I'm by no means complaining," she smiled, falling into step beside him. Their pace was slowed somewhat due to the rather pronounced limp in Jörmundur's left leg. Arya frowned, "What happened, for I don't remember you limping during my last visit."

He grunted as they emerged into a larger corridor that led to the kitchens. Servants of all kinds were hurrying to and fro and spared the intruders no more than half a glance. "I was thrown from my horse last winter and broke my hip; had this stupid limp ever since."

Arya couldn't help herself, "What were you doing to cause the horse to throw you?"

"He got spooked," came the short reply and Arya let it drop, although she still had a nagging curiosity and resolved to ask Nasuada about it later. "I'll make it known that Fírnen isn't to be disturbed – although I doubt anyone is going to be foolish enough to disturb a sleeping dragon."

"Thank you."

The rest of the journey through the castle continued in silence and when they arrived outside a burnished oak door, Jormundur bowed slightly before making his excuses and leaving. Shaking her head, Arya knocked upon the door. A moment later it was yanked open by a very irritable Nasuada. "What part of I don't want to be disturbed don't you half brained –?" words failed her as she realised who it was standing outside her rooms. "Arya!"

Nasuada threw her arms around her and pulled her into the room. Judging by the bulge beneath her dress she was still very much pregnant. "Now I understand why Jörmundur didn't stick around!" Arya laughed as the queen let her go.

Nasuada flopped back down on the settee she'd been lounging on, flashing Arya a grin. "I've been terrible these past few weeks," she admitted. "But thankfully Baldor has been seeing to all the petty details of running a kingdom for me."

When the time came for the villagers of Carvahall to return home – with Roran Stronghammer as the Earl of the Palencar Valley – some had remained behind in the capital. One such man had been Baldor; he was the younger son of the village blacksmith and Roran had asked him to stay behind as his representative in the capital. He hadn't counted on his friend falling for the queen and subsequently marrying her. He wasn't king, for Nasuada ruled, but rather her consort and deferred to her as his queen and his wife. There had been some outrage on the part of King Orrin in Surda, but Arya privately suspected that was because he didn't believe a woman _could_ rule effectively. Which was the sole reason Arya had yet to invite him to Ellesméra.

"I generally leave that to Däthedr." Arya admitted, sitting across from her friend and placing her pack on the floor. "In all honesty he's the true ruler since I spend all my time looking for an excuse to get away."

"You're a good Queen," Nasuada reproved. "And I seriously doubt anyone else would've gone against the wishes of the entire elven court when we signed that treaty."

"It wasn't the entire court," Arya protested, getting another laugh out of the other queen. "I've spoken to him about opening our boards by the way; if only because when you finally get round to asking us we'll already be moving somewhat slowly in the right direction."

"Oh good; you can't begin to imagine how much I dreaded that conversation with you!"

Rolling her eyes Arya gazed out of the window, noticing absently that it was a perfect view east. "Enough; I am not here so we can talk politics, nor am I here as the Queen."

"What are you here as then?"

"I am here as a Rider."

Nasuada smiled then, her hands resting over her swollen stomach, a true smile. "And how long have you waited to say that?"

Arya was spared answering by the door opening and in strode Baldor and Angela. Of all Eragon's boyhood friends, Baldor was the one that reminded her the most of him; perhaps it was because he still retained that sense of innocence that Eragon had once had about him – like he still believed, despite all he'd seen, that there was still plenty of good left in the world. Angela was the same as she ever was with the werecat trailing along at her heels. Solembum paused when he spotted Arya and she let a small smile cross her lips as he turned and darted out of the room before the door swung shut. Following the werecat's gaze Angela said: "He would always abandon me whenever Saphira was around too. Apparently dragons are better company."

Arya said nothing, aware that Nasuada was watching her intently. Much to her annoyance, Nasuada agreed wholeheartedly with Fírnen on the topic of how Arya felt about Eragon. Neither of them seemed to understand that she didn't want to talk about it for the simple reason of him not being here with them; why admit to something when there was no need to? Her eyes drifted to the window again and it was a moment before she realised Angela was talking to her.

"What?"

The witch raised an eyebrow. "If I didn't know just who you were, I'd have trouble believing you were a princess, let alone a queen!" She ignored Arya's confusion as she went on. "Well her waters haven't broken yet and she says she's not in any discomfort … yet."

"And?"

"You're not being much use!" the herbalist complained. "If I knew you were going to be this useless I'd have left you to sit on that pile of rotting kindling and suffer the tedium of the elven court!" Arya opened her mouth to protest but Angela was already marching out of the room as if she'd been given insult.

"What did I do?"

Baldor shook his head, "She's got some appointment with some old acquaintance in the city," he explained, "and she just wanted to check you were actually here before going."

"And she's probably annoyed she can't tell you off for being late," Nasuada added with a smile. Just then the door slammed open and two people came striding into the room arguing loudly at the top of their voices.

"That's not what happened you cur! My father heard it from Eragon Shadeslayer himself and that is _not _what happened!"

"Oh yeah? Well my mother was actually there you little –"

"Ajihad!" Baldor said sharply, "Ismira! Enough!"

Nasuada groaned. "What are you two arguing about now?" she demanded. Arya surveyed the two; it had been a long time since she'd seen them both … she last remembered two children running riot over Carvahall when she'd gone to visit one spring several years ago. Ismira had grown into a young woman with the image of her mother and the determination of her father, if her bearing was anything to go by. And Ajihad – so named for Nasuada's father – seemed to be about the age Eragon had been when she'd first met him; a man still clinging unknowingly to adolescence.

The two children – Arya refused to see them in any other light – fell into a sullen silence, before speaking at once. "Ismira says that Eragon Shadeslayer killed the Shade _before_ the Kull chief had his duel with your father!"

"Well it wasn't _after_ was it? Because the Urgals were all fighting themselves then weren't they!" They both looked expectantly at Nasuada, as did Baldor, waiting for her to resolve the conflict between them.

"I don't know," she said plainly. "I wasn't there when Eragon stuck his sword into Durza's chest. Arya was though; why don't you ask her – _nicely_!"

Arya swallowed. _Steady …_ Fírnen said softly. _You don't have to answer them._ For he had undoubtedly sensed the symptoms of anxiety flaring up inside her … it had been one of the lingering after effects of that war; along with the occasional nightmare of Gil'ead, infrequent panic attacks had crept upon her when she least expected it. Primarily when a question or query to do with Durza was dropped on her like this one was. _Just remember to breath …_ he advised, soothing her with memories of them soaring over Ellesméra at dusk, when the trees were bathed in the fading light of the sunset and snatches of songs drifted up to the through the branches.

"I honestly don't remember anything about Ajihad duelling an Urgal chieftain in that battle," she said, hoping they wouldn't ask her what she knew they would next. "Maybe you're getting confused with that skirmish when he journeyed to Aberon about a year or so before hand."

Nasuada nodded in agreement as Baldor shut the door that the children had left open. Sitting down on the couch either side of Arya, the prince asked, "What _did _happen when Eragon fought that Shade?" he frowned then, "What kind of name is 'Durza' anyway?"

"Surely you've heard the story before?" Arya asked, struggling to maintain control and not succumb to the anxiety.

"Not from someone who was there," Ismira countered. "And since my uncle and his dragon decided to abandon us all, we have to settle for your account."

_Arya …_ Fírnen's concern echoed through her as she closed her eyes and attempted to block out the cajoling of Ismira and Ajihad. _You're going to hyperventilate in a minute if you don't slow your breathing down._ Arya barely noticed when Nasuada shooed the children and her husband out of the room; she slid off the comfortable settee and hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the floor.

_He's dead, he's dead! Eragon killed him; he's dead. He's dead, he's dead …_ repeating the words firmly in her mind as Fírnen's mind merged into hers, for once didn't seem to help.

_You'll pass out if you're not careful!_ But Firnen's warning came too late; by the time he'd finished she was already slipping into unconsciousness. Arya heard her dragon speaking directly to Nasuada, but made no sense of it. _Just let her sleep … it's not the first time this has happened and I doubt it'll be the last._


	6. I Broke

Drifting into awareness, Arya found herself alone in the room Nasuada had been lounging in when she arrived. _Fírnen?_

_I'm here._

_Where is everyone?_

_Breathlessly awaiting the announcement that the queen has a second heir._

_You mean she's in giving birth._

_That's what I said. _Arya shook her head and sat up, groaning slightly as the room spun. _Slowly … slowly … will you be alright?_ He asked as she got to her feet and made her way gradually towards the door leading to the rest of the castle.

_As alright as I'll ever be …_ she sighed and sagged against the nearest wall. _These attacks never occurred during the war; I never used to dissolve into a fit of terror whenever he was mentioned in passing._

_You couldn't afford to back then._ The dragon said softly, _and you never let yourself dwell upon him for too long either – nor did you talk about what had happened. By your own account you simply pushed it aside and carried on as if nothing had transpired._

Arya shook her head and pushed open the door, wondering where exactly she was going to find her friends. Grabbing the arm of a passing scullery boy she quickly asked for directions, smiling slightly as the boy hurried off before he got a smack round the ear for being late. Heading in the opposite direction, it didn't take her long to find a small crowd gathered restlessly outside the main door to the royal apartments. Not really in the right frame of mind to be quizzed by Baldor, Ajihad and Ismira about what had happened, Arya slipped through the servants' door round the corner and quietly closed it before she was spotted.

In comparison to her own suite, Nasuada's rooms actually looked as if they belonged to a queen; rich tapestries and opulently embroidered furnishings along with lavish rugs and animal skins draped across the floors. _Stop with the jealousy._ Fírnen told her; _the only reason yours aren't like this is because you refused to move into your mother's suite upon getting crowned._

_Shove off._ She told him, picking her way across the room to where the bedchamber was situated and to where the source of the noise was coming from. _I'm perfectly happy in my own rooms so why do I need to move?_

Fírnen withdrew as Arya knocked on the bedroom door and opened it. Angela wrenched it the rest of the way open and gave her a speculative look before beckoning her inside. "You're awake I see," the witch said as she let the door slammed shut.

"No, actually I'm sleep walking." A tired laugh from the direction of the bed caused Arya to look up at her friend, and flash her a small smile. "What can I do?" She asked, turning to the other women already in the room. Along with Angela there was Nasuada's handmaid and a woman Arya recognised as Baldor's mother, Elene.

"We're just waiting at the moment," the handmaid said, faffing about with some hot water and cloths. Arya nodded once, trying hard not to laugh as the young girl – she was evidently new – knocked the table over. "I'm so sorry!" she burst out, looking up horrified and probably expecting to be sent directly to the block. "I'll … I'll … erm …"

"Why don't you go and make sure everything is in order in the nursery?" Elene suggested kindly to the girl. She nodded, casting a fearful glance at Nasuada as she left the room as if the spirits of a Shade were at her heels.

Arya couldn't contain herself any longer and burst out laughing. Perching on the edge of the bed she knew that Nasuada had also found the event the height of hilarity. Angela and Elene surveyed them both for a long moment before they too joined in; their mirth was cut short when Nasuada groaned as the inner workings of her body did their uttermost best to expel the independent being inside her.

"Ouch." Arya muttered dryly as her friend let go of her hands.

"Well I don't think we have long to wait," Angela said clinically, "Just remember to push on the next contraction."

"I have done this before!" Nasuada snapped.

Arya turned to Elene. "When did you arrive?"

"A couple of hours ago," she replied. "I'd always planned to be here in time for the birth and since Nasuada doesn't have a mother I've been filling in, so to speak." Arya nodded as her attention was caught by a branch tapping on the window in the bedchamber; once again the view faced east.

There was no time for talk after that however, because it became all hands on deck as they did their best to aid Nasuada in the delivery of the child. Arya suspected that the task of allowing Nasuada to crush her hands had been given to her as Angela's way of revenge for missing most of the labour. As always there were a few tense moments in-between the child arriving and the child crying; all four women breathed heavy sighs of relief when a piercing wail filled the room.

"Can I have my hands back now?"

Nasuada laughed somewhat hysterically as she let go and reached for the swaddled bundle that the herbalist was handing her. "It's a girl."

"A girl?" Nasuada smiled and leant back against the pillows, cradling the child to her breast. Arya retreated to the back of the room as Elene went to fetch her son and grandson and let the citadel hear of the news.

Glancing over to where Arya stood, staring out of the east-facing window, Nasuada said, "So … Are you going to tell me what happened earlier?"

Arya closed her eyes. _There's no shame in telling people, Arya._ Fírnen whispered. _And it's not like you've kept it well hidden over the past few years._

_Does everybody know?_

_Most of the elves know yes, if that's what you're asking._

Arya turned away from her study of the eastern horizon and found both Nasuada and Angela watching her. She gave in and sat down on the edge of an arm chair with her head in her hands; at that moment the door chose to open and Elene returned with Baldor. At least Ajihad wasn't with them.

"I panicked."

"Anyone could see that; what I want to know is why?"

Arya shot Nasuada a look, and knew that – despite the baby in the room – she was currently the centre of attention. "Because I wasn't prepared or expecting the conversation to turn so suddenly onto the topic of Durza."

Sitting on the edge of the bed beside his wife, Baldor looked down at his handiwork and hugged both mother and daughter close to him before Elene spoke. "You never used to start panicking whenever he was mentioned before," she pointed out. "So why now? Why years down the line are you letting your time in Gil'ead affect you so much?"

Springing to her feet, Arya said agitatedly; "Because I didn't have time for a breakdown," she murmured. "Not back then. There was too much to be done and I couldn't afford to fall by the wayside when I was needed as much as I was. Especially by Eragon."

Angela was watching her, "I'm not surprised it's taken you this long to start falling apart; you all but denied what happened to you at that Shade's hand … sometimes I wonder if he did only torture you."

Arya snapped her gaze up at the witch, "What is that supposed to mean!"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

Arya shook her head and turned away, _What did you expect to happen? It's becoming crystal clear to them that_ something_ happened in Gil'ead other than what you've told them._

_But not that!_

_Then tell them._

_You want me to tell them that if Eragon hadn't dragged me out of my cell when he did, that I would've betrayed them all?_

_But you didn't betray them._ Fírnen reassured her softly.

_I could've …_ Arya closed her eyes and sank back down on the arm chair again. "You want to know the truth? You want to know the main reason why I panic whenever he's mentioned? Do you really want to know?"

_They're your friends Arya,_ Fírnen pointed out, comforting her as best he could as she wallowed in her own inadequacy. _And no one else could've held out against him as well or as long as you did. No one could've protected Saphira's egg like you._

"I broke," she whispered softly, almost too afraid to speak the words aloud. "Yet to save my sanity, Durza left me be in my cell until he was ready to drag me before Galbatorix, for the king wanted me sane. It mattered not that I was given a respite from the torment because the deed was already done and I had broken." Arya spoke to the stone ground at her feet to save herself the shame of looking at the disappointment in the eyes of her friends. "I broke," she repeated in that hoarse whisper. "But I never got the chance to betray you. You have Eragon to thank for that."

The silence in the room was almost too intense to endure; even the new-born baby wasn't making any noise. Arya waited, tense, for someone to speak – for someone to reprimand her on her confession and to turn her away with the cry of traitor.

"No one expected you to remain silent." Nasuada said finally. "None of us expected you to hold out against the Shade and Galbatorix; we knew you'd never betray us willingly." Arya didn't dare raise her eyes from the ground, or to move, lest Nasuada took back her words.

_You're too harsh on yourself … they forgive you, don't they?_

At her dragon's words Arya lifted her head and looked at her friends in the room. "You've only told Fírnen haven't you?" the queen continued with an amused smile.

"If I had told my mother, she'd have had no choice but to have me dragged before the Knotted Throne in Tialdarí Hall and executed for treason there and then." Arya couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. "And I wouldn't have stopped her … how could I do that to her? How could I tell her that I'd failed her? I lied and that secret has been eating me up from the inside for almost twenty years."

"But you didn't." Angela said quietly, yet firmly. "You didn't betray her – or fail her. Or anyone for that matter."

"Only because Eragon –"

"Does it matter how or why you didn't? Only that you didn't."

The guilt that had laid upon her ever since waking in Farthen Dur all those years ago, began to lift from her as her friends refused to believe that she had done them wrong. Admitting that she owed everything to Eragon – and, admittedly, to Murtagh too – had been a strangely difficult thing to do, although she was glad now that she'd said it. The child began to wail then, a piercing yell that seemed to say 'hello? Pay me some attention; I'm new!' and the occupants in the room swiftly turned to the baby as if nothing significant had just happened – as if Arya hadn't just confessed to breaking and nearly betraying them all to the Empire.

_I should've made you tell them, years ago … _Fírnen mused.

_If I wake up tomorrow morning alive, _then_ I'll agree that this was a good idea._ She got the sense of him laughing outside in the courtyard and decided to ignore him as Angela, Baldor and Elene all crowed round the bed where Nasuada was staring lovingly down at her new-born daughter. "What will you call her?" Arya asked, standing slightly back from the crowd round the bed.

Baldor shrugged as Nasuada's face fell slightly as she realised she had the arduous task of naming the baby in front of her. "There will be time for that later," Elene said placidly. "Why don't you call in Ajihad and let him meet his sister? And Ismira?"

Nasuada nodded in consent and Arya quickly made her excuses to leave; Ajihad and Ismira would undoubtedly demand answers for what had occurred earlier and she was not in the mood for their antics. Lingering only long enough to bless the child with a few quick lines in the ancient language, Arya quickly slipped out of the suite through the servants' door. Returning to the lounge, Arya picked up her pack and then made her way to the rooms several floors above that Nasuada had said she could use as she wished whenever she visited.

Most thought it odd that she chosen rooms that were somewhat out of the way from the rest of the goings on of the castle. Arya however had liked the fact that the rooms were spacious enough to accommodate two dragons about Firnen's size. If she was honest, part of her had taken into account the fact that there would have to be space for Saphira as well – if she and Eragon were ever to return that is. Climbing the overly grand stair case in the main hall, Arya frequently slipped behind columns and statues to hide from various petty courtiers that were no doubt prowling around in the hopes of bumping into her.

"Ládrin," she murmured softly as she reached the door. It opened, creaking slightly on the hinges, and Arya slipped inside before anyone spotted her. Leaning against the door, Arya surveyed the rooms as Fírnen touched her mind and asked her to open the full-length windows so he could get inside. Dumping her pack on a nearby table, Arya swung the doors open wide and stood back as her great dragon swept into the room and settled down in the space cleared just for him.

These rooms at the top of the citadel had once been reserved for the Riders of old. They each somewhat resembled the tree-house in Ellesméra that Eragon and Saphira used, although not quite as grandiose. Taking the time to remove the saddle from his back, Arya kissed Firnen's snout before slipping out to the balcony and staring at the landscape in the light of the setting sun on the other side of the city.

One of the reasons she'd chosen this room was because of the balcony that faced east. _Watching the eastern horizon won't bring them back,_ Fírnen said softly.

_I know that. But I can't help but think that if I keep looking, one day I'll see them on the horizon, flying towards us … flying home._


	7. Politics

The next day dawned with the same heat and lack of a fresh breeze. Arya tossed and lay on her back with the windows open and the light drapes wafting in the soft summer air. Fírnen was snoring lightly from his over-large cushion on the other side of the room while sounds from the city below drifted up to the Rider's room. Arya could hear merchants and shop keepers yelling their wears to anyone and everyone who passed by; someone was profession the news of the birth of the new infant princess; the sounds of a scuffle broke out directly beneath her window only to be stifled just as quickly by soldiers on duty.

The sheets lay in a heap on the floor – Arya had thrown them off at some point in the night due to the stifling heat. She wore only a light sleeveless dress that fell to her knees and she'd shoved her hair into a loose plait – which had all but escaped its bond – before she'd fallen asleep. Sighing heavily, she rolled out of bed and padded on light feet to the balcony where she leant against the railing and gazed across the landscape laid out before her. In the bright sunlight of morning, the streets below were packed with inhabitants all going about their business while a sense of security and contentment and peace prevailed across the land. A sense that was echoed throughout Alagaësia, for even in her own kingdom and those of Orik's and Orrin's the overwhelming feel of freedom had conquered the land.

Looking directly down beneath her window, she had a view of the royal gardens. During the century or so that Galbatorix had dwelt here the gardens had been left to grow wild and untamed; the few elves that had remained or had journeyed to visit and live in Ilirea had soon seen to rectifying the issue of the gardens. Now they were on par to the gardens outside Tialdarí Hall back in the forest of Du Weldenvarden. Frowning, Arya took a closer look at the branches of a large maple tree and then let out a small laugh when she realised what it was she was seeing; Ismira was perched in the lower branches, hidden from view from the ground unless you already knew she was there. Even from the distance she was, Arya could tell something was bothering Roran's daughter.

Five minutes later she was pacing the paths and walkways in the gardens, heading in the general direction of the maple tree Ismira was hiding in. After pulling on a fresh pair of leggings and a plain vest, Arya had bullied Fírnen into wakefulness to tell him where she was going and left him be; apparently he still needed to recover from their flight although Arya privately suspected he was just being lazy. She'd left her sword and her bow in her rooms, but had at least belted on a dagger at her waist – just in case.

Reaching Ismira's tree, Arya cast a glance around before wrapping her hands round a low branch and pulling herself up into the boughs of the tree. Eragon's young niece had found a spot half way up the tree and seemed to be sulking about something or other as she leant against the trunk of the tree. Drawing level with the child, Arya settled herself on the other end of Ismira's branch with a balance born of one who'd been climbing trees ever since she'd learnt to walk. "May I join you?"

The girl shrugged.

Arya supressed a groan.

"Who are you hiding from?" She asked the girl, deciding to be direct rather than beat about the bush as her mother had always done.

Ismira flickered her gaze to Arya, "I'm not hiding."

"Of course not … how foolish of me for suggesting such a thing."

That nearly got a smile out of the girl.

"What's the matter Ismira?" Arya asked after several long moments of silence. "Why were you arguing so with Ajihad yesterday? I thought the two of you got on."

Ismira made to hug her knees to her chest, but evidently decided that she wasn't certain she wouldn't fall if she did. "I miss home." She said in a whisper and Arya sighed.

"Or is it more you're missing your mother rather than your home?"

She shrugged again and then nodded.

"But they'll no doubt visit soon enough – once word reaches them that Nasuada has had the child that is."

Ismira looked up at Arya, "But then they'll go home and I'll be stuck here."

"You're to marry Ajihad come winter," Arya pointed out softly. "That's been arranged since he was a month old."

"Exactly!" she all but yelled, starling the birds out of the tree they were perched in. "I didn't get a say in this; it wasn't _my_ choice!"

"What difference does it make?" Arya asked gently, "You love him don't you?" Ismira didn't answer, which Arya took to meaning that she did. "What difference does it make, even if this marriage hadn't been arranged – you'd have no doubt ended up marrying him anyway, wouldn't you? Or are you telling me you only love him because you have to?"

_You're needed in the council chamber,_ Fírnen interrupted. _Däthedr and Rhunön want a word or two about something urgent._

_How urgent is urgent?_ Arya wondered, but Fírnen didn't know. "Think about it," Arya said to Ismira then, "I have to go; one of the many disadvantages of being queen is that you can never escape your responsibilities no matter how hard you try to."

"I always forget you're a queen too." Ismira said as Arya made to clamber out of the tree.

She gave the girl a quizzical look; "Why's that?"

Ismira shrugged, "You don't seem much like one – and you're a Rider. That somehow seems more important than being a queen."

"You think?"

"Don't you?"

It was Arya's turn to shrug as she jumped down to the ground, landing lightly on her toes as she did so. _Where are you?_

_In the council chamber with Jörmundur and Baldor and your ambassador._

_Is Nasuada not joining us?_

_Your counterpart is otherwise occupied._ Shaking her head, Arya slipped inside the castle and adopted an expression she hoped would give the impression that her mind was on important matters, and therefore not in the mood to be stopped by petty insignificant courtiers. Striding along the corridors to the council chamber, a thought crossed her mind. It had been nagging at her for a while now, but for some reason it chose now to bring itself to the light and make itself heard.

_Do you think the hatchlings made it to Eragon and Saphira?_

_What makes you think they didn't?_

_I'm not sure,_ Arya admitted. _But it seems odd that Eragon wouldn't send more eggs through when they arrived – and you pointed out he must have a good reason. The hatchlings not reaching him would be a good reason enough, wouldn't it?_

_If they didn't make it, then what happened to them?_

_I don't know Fírnen … but I feel as if we're missing something important. As if the answer is right in front of us, yet we're unable to see it._ Arya shook her head, _ignore me; I'm just worrying at things that aren't there. _She reached the door to the council chamber and pushed it open, shaking the nagging thoughts from her mind.

An oval table sat in the centre of the room, with a fire place on opposite walls. Large stain-glass windows ran the length of the outer wall and about a dozen mirrors on stands at eye-level stood in a corner; the scyring mirrors used to contact people on the other side of the country. One of these mirrors was standing at one end of the table where Baldor, Jörmundur, the elven ambassador Vanir, and Fírnen were waiting for her. Lord Däthedr and the blacksmith Rhunön were watching through the mirror somewhere in Ellesméra.

"Arya Dröttning," Däthedr murmured as he saw her, touching his first two fingers to his lips and bowing slightly. As ever Rhunön ignored any semblance of formality, which caused Arya to have to hide a smile at the thought.

"Lord Däthedr, Rhunön-elda, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Arya asked as she took a seat beside Jörmundur, across the table from Vanir and Baldor.

"Lord Fiolr is stirring up the opposition," Däthedr told her, "He's got half the court convinced that you're unfit and unworthy to be queen – and that you don't take your position seriously." Arya groaned and let her head fall into her hands.

_You should've let me incinerate him when you had the chance._ Fírnen told her smugly. _No one would've missed him all that much._

_That isn't helping._

"What does he want?" Jörmundur asked.

"He wants Arya off the throne." Rhunön said bluntly, "and he'll quite willingly go to any lengths to achieve that."

"He wants to usurp me?" Arya demanded incredulously.

"But to even say such a thing is treason!" Vanir cried, jumping to his feet.

_Sit down älfa_, Fírnen told the ambassador and he did as the dragon said. _Ask them what they think you should do now. We can be back there in three days. I'll quite happily incinerate Fiolr for you._

_Hush Fírnen._ Arya asked the question to perhaps her only ally in the elven court and waited for his reply.

"I think …" he said slowly, no doubt unsure as to how she was going to react to his answer.

"I promise not to get to angry at your words my friend," Arya smiled.

He nodded once and opened his mouth to speak but Rhunön, evidently annoyed at how long it was taking him, beat him to it. "We think you should abdicate – before they dispose of you. This way, at least, you can maintain your dignity."

Arya spluttered at her words.

Jörmundur frowned, "But surely there aren't _that_ many people who oppose her in the elven court!"

"The common folk are taking sides; while you have an overwhelming majority support from them, with the odd exception all the family houses are allying with Fiolr. They believe you're family has sat upon the Knotted Throne for long enough." Däthedr said, looking directly at Arya.

"And where do you stand, Däthedr?" Arya asked quietly. "Does your house still stand by mine … or am I alone?"

He shifted uncertainly for a moment under her gaze before replying in the ancient language, "We stand by you, Arya Dröttning." He repeated his words in the language of the humans and continued on so that they could understand; "We stood by your father, and stood by your mother. If you so wish it; we can have our warriors arrest Fiolr and his conspirators this night fall … but we cannot arrest the entire court without an army nor would it be wise to."

"Give the word and we can have an army assembled to aid you," Baldor told her then.

"You'd have to ask Nasuada for permission first," Jörmundur cautioned.

"She loves Arya like a sister," Baldor shrugged, "if she were here the army would already be marching," he added.

"I can guide your troops through the forest to Ellesméra," Vanir offered.

They both turned expectantly to Arya who was staring out of the north-facing window, thinking hard. "Däthedr is right Arya," Rhunön said then, "You cannot arrest the entire court; and bringing in a human army will only prove to cement Fiolr's accusations that you are ignorant of our ways."

"How am I?" Arya shot back, letting the anger in her voice break through.

"I'm not saying you are!" the blacksmith growled. "But in their defence, you have spent more time away from us, amongst humans and dwarves, than you have with your own people."

Arya sighed again, and let her head fall against the table. "Who knew my days as ambassador and as the egg-courier would come back to haunt me? Have I not proven myself worthy to sit upon that throne?"

Däthedr spread his hands, "He's claiming that you're exaggerating your suffering at Gil'ead all those years ago and that how can we be sure you didn't break."

"Fiolr would've caved the instant Durza's whip first touched him!" Arya shouted, springing to her feet and knocking her chair over. "And I never betrayed anyone!"

Rhunön looked at her speculatively as Arya fought to wrestle away the panic inside her. She closed her eyes and let Fírnen temporarily take control of her body as he calmed down her breathing and racing heart. "You're terror attacks, as he calls them," Rhunön said then, "he's claiming that the stress of running the kingdom is too taxing on you and _that's_ why you panic."

"The kingdom virtually runs itself Rhunön." Arya muttered. _Thank you,_ she added to Fírnen. He rarely interfered with her attacks since they were in effect, harmless – but on the odd occasion he would, if the situation demanded it. She picked up her chair and slumped back down into it as the reality of her position hit her. "You really think I should abdicate?" She asked in a small voice, staring at her dragon while the others in the room – and in the mirror – stared at her.

"Yes, Dröttning," Däthedr said softly. "I think it's the only way. You can't afford to be disposed for it will not only be your reputation that is disgraced, but your parents' as well. Evander and Islanzadí would be remembered in contempt for bringing you into the world if Fiolr has his way."

Arya shook her head. _But how can I walk away? When she had taught me so much and trusted me so much to follow in her footsteps._

_Why are you so reluctant?_ Fírnen's question was echoed by Jörmundur. The old veteran sitting beside her was watching her intently, as were the others.

"Because all I ever did was fail her and let her down. While she lived I was never the daughter she wanted me to be; how can I walk away when I'll be letting her down yet again?"

_A dragon and Rider should be free to go where the wind takes them._ Fírnen answered, letting the others in the council chamber hear his thoughts too. _Your mother would've understood that Arya; she wouldn't have wanted you to lose your life over a choice such as this one. Not when there is a clear and sensible option available to you._ In private, so only she could hear he added; _You never wanted this anyway._

"So be it," Arya sighed. "I shall be Dröttning no more."

"But who will succeed you?" Baldor asked, "Does this Lord Fiolr seek the throne? For I do not believe that he'll be a good ally."

"I can write a document stating my abdication, and appoint my successor. The abdication process, does at least, allow for that. Tell you what; I'll date it two days before Fírnen and I left … can you lower the wards around ebrithil Oromis's hut, Däthedr? That way I can send you the document directly and you can leave it where a neutral party – Lady Gilá's house is still neutral right?" Däthedr nodded once. "Leave it where they can find the document."

"Who will you appoint?" Vanir asked.

Arya shrugged, unsure. "Gilá perhaps – or Däthedr." Her friend choked through the mirror and she laughed. "But my friend," she protested, "it was only a suggestion."

_You're going to nominate him just because you can, aren't you? _Fírnen said knowingly._ What happens when they appoint him and crown him?_

_It won't be the end of the world Fírnen. Däthedr would make a good king; that's if he can get over his insistence on subordinating himself to someone all the time._

_If … if has far too many possibilities for my liking._

_Get over yourself; I'm doing this for you._ At her words, Fírnen began to hum with satisfaction.


	8. No Turning Back

Arya threw the ink pen across the room in frustration, splattering the walls and her friends in emerald ink as she did. After the meeting with Däthedr and Rhunön, Arya had followed the others through the stronghold to the lounge Nasuada had been inhabiting in the last week or two of her pregnancy, where Nasuada, Angela and Elene were waiting along with the children. After explaining tersely what her two subjects had requested the meeting about, Arya had sat herself at the desk situated at the other end of the room, pulled a sheet of paper towards her and began to write up the document of her abdication and the subsequent nomination of Däthedr as her replacement monarch.

"Anyone would think," Elene said, returning the pen to Arya at the desk, "that you were the infant; throwing things across the room like that."

"I'm irritated." Arya snapped.

"Anyone can see that," the woman said with an amused smile. "What's your problem?"

_Your problem,_ Fírnen answered, although Elene couldn't hear his thoughts, _is that you don't like to ask for help._

"Trying to word this correctly so that the document will be taken seriously." Arya shook her head and looked down at the page underneath her hand, which was covered in lines of glyphs – the Poetic Script – stating her intent and her will. "You'd have thought that my mother would've given me a heads up over how bloody irritatingly difficult it is."

"Yes, but you spent most of your time trying your hardest _not_ to listen when she try to teach you about such things," Vanir pointed out from his place on one of the settees. Arya glanced over and saw that it was his turn to hold the princess. A small pang of envy erupted inside her as Arya realised she hadn't yet held the child.

Nasuada's sharp eyes apparently caught her look, for she got up and pulled Arya to her feet and dragged her over to the cluster of couches and soft arm chairs by the fire. Pushing her down in an empty space, Nasuada scooped up her new-born and unceremoniously deposited her into Arya's lap. Somewhat startled, Arya gently lifted the child into her arms and settled her there, doing her uttermost best to ignore the smug look in Nasuada's eyes as the mother returned to her seat beside her husband. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You seem to be virtually done with the document," Angela said. Arya twisted over her shoulder to see the herbalist at the desk, evidently reading what was written on the paper. "All that's left is for you to sign it and send it on to Du Weldenvarden."

"I should've guessed you know how to read the Liduen Kvaedhí."

Angela laughed, "There is much you do not know about me … all that you need to do is write the closing paragraph and fill it with all kinds of ostentatious words that basically all mean the same thing … do you want me to do it? Or will your people noticed the change of handwriting?"

Arya shrugged. "I was going to get Vanir to write it out properly for me anyway so you might as well." She received several inquiring looks and sighed, "His handwriting is better than mine," she explained with another neglectant shrug.

"I am as ever at your service Arya Dröttning." Vanir said, rising to his feet and bowing.

With a little laugh, Arya said, "Once I've signed the thing, I will have no claim to that title any longer."

_Ah freedom … such a sweet feeling, don't you think?_ The child in her arms wriggled and squirmed, causing Arya to look down at her. Nasuada's daughter gazed up with bright brown eyes, before reaching out a tiny hand. _Why do you always go weak at the knees when you have an infant in your arms?_ Fírnen demanded with a huff.

_It's a female thing Fírnen,_ Arya said softly. _You wouldn't understand._

_Too right I don't …_ he almost sulked.

Arya let her mirth spread through their link as she continued; _Don't worry – no doubt Eragon would be as clueless as you are, while Saphira would understand completely._

_You females are rather temperamental things aren't you? With all your emotions running riot … and they get amplified every fifty-three days._

_It's twenty-eight in humans_, Arya murmured.

_Really? Why's that?_ Fírnen asked curiously.

_Do you really want to know the inner workings of a female's body and why the cycle length varies between races? Do you really want me to go into explicit detail about all that?_

_Ah … no – I think I prefer not knowing._ Arya laughed lightly as Fírnen shifted in his corner before lifting his head and holding it above the infant nestled contently in Arya's arms. He let out a puff of smoke, which engulfed both Arya and the baby before laying his head back down on the floor. _It's rather small … don't you think?_

_So were you when you'd just hatched. Shall I show you?_ Fírnen snorted and withdrew before Arya could tease him about how small and runty-looking he'd been when freshly hatched from his emerald egg.

"What's up with Firnen?" Ismira asked, looking over at the dragon from where she was seated on the floor. A small table sat between her and Ajihad, who was also kneeling on the floor busy setting up a game of chess for them to play.

"Nothing. I'm just teasing him and he doesn't like it."

"What are you teasing him about?" Jörmundur asked curiously.

Arya shrugged. "He doesn't like to be reminded of how small and puny he was when he'd first hatched. Apparently it's not good for his reputation as the fearsome dragon who's the mate of the great Saphira Bjartskular."

He snorted again. _Leave me alone! Eragon never teased Saphira like this!_

_That was because she was too busy teasing him …_

_What does that mean?_

_Nothing, Fírnen … just another one of those female things you don't want to know about. _Fírnen snorted once more before closing his eyes and pretending to fall asleep.

"I remember the egg; he must've been small to have fitted inside there," Nasuada agreed with a smile.

"He was … and the thing is it was only then that I appreciated how small Saphira had been when she'd just hatched for Eragon. That day we meet as two Riders, he recounted how she'd hatched for him and I realised how small she must've been … and it made me realise just how big she was compared to Fírnen."

Angela cleared her throat then and began to read out the document – Vanir translated it so Nasuada and the other humans could understand – so that Arya could decide if it was good enough or not. "What do you think," the herbalist asked, "of my final paragraph?"

"Clearly the best phrased part of the entire manuscript … do you think it's up to the standards of my tedious court?"

"If I had something read to me that was worded like that; I think I'd fall asleep." Nasuada grinned.

"Ah yes; but among my people, politics is an art that takes time and patience – which Fiolr has apparently run out of – and the very best, such as Lady Gilá's family, never let on which side their loyalties lie unless they have to."

"I'll write it up for you, Arya Dröttning," Vanir got to his feet and took Angela's place at the desk while the herbalist took his seat by the fire.

Arya returned the infant to her mother before getting up and absently going to the east-facing window. "I'll have to wait for Orik to arrive so he can witness me signing the damn thing."

"Why?" Ajihad piped up.

"Because no one is going to dispute King Orik and Queen Nasuada when they sign the document stating they witnessed my abdication."

"_That_ is politics; making sure that your opponent can't out manoeuvre you." Nasuada explained, before frowning, "Orik could be weeks away though."

Arya shook her head as Fírnen spoke to them all, _I spotted him about five leagues from the city this morning when I went to hunt. He should be here within the next hour or so … what will you name the child?_ He asked then.

They spent the better part of an hour suggesting names Nasuada and Baldor could use; Vanir's silence proving that he was hard at work copying out Arya's abdication document. Eventually the queen and her husband chose a name – which, typically, Ajihad decided he didn't like. _Orianah … yes it fits._

"I'm glad you think so Fírnen," Nasuada smiled.

"But it sounds like you've named her Orange," Ajihad protested.

"Not it doesn't," Ismira countered. "Orianah is a lovely name."

"Fine. Call her Orianah if you want. _I'm_ calling her Orange."

Nasuada turned to her son. "If I hear you calling her Orange, I'll have you take the place of the scullery boys!"

Ismira laughed as Ajihad glared at his mother. Baldor it seemed was trying hard not to join Ismira in laughing. "I won't …" he said as a knock on the door interrupted them. "Let you hear," the prince added as his mother's attention was drawn elsewhere. Ismira doubled over into a fit of giggles and Arya allowed herself a smile.

Nasuada's administrator poked his head round the door. "Forgive my disturbance, your majesty … uh majesties … but King Orik of the dwarves has arrived at the city gates."

"I'll go meet him," Baldor sighed before Nasuada had a chance to turn to him with a look of innocence upon her face. He got to his feet, and almost as a second thought, dragged Ajihad to his too. "Come along before you annoy your mother too much." Jörmundur had also gotten to his feet and after a quick glance at Arya, so did Vanir.

"I've completed the document, Dröttning," he said before following the rest of the men out of the room and leaving Fírnen alone in a room full of women. Not that he really cared all that much since Arya knew he intended to sleep through all the tedious greetings and welcomes and so on.

Glancing over at the desk, Arya surveyed Vanir's work and was thankful she'd gotten him to copy it out for her; she had not the patience needed to sit and neatly duplicate – or even write – something like he had. Looking back at her original manuscript, Arya noticed that her writing had started off half-way decent for about three or four lines before swiftly plunging into an almost unreadable scrawl. All she had to do was sign her name at the space left at the bottom of the sheet and she'd no longer be queen.

_Am I really doing the right thing?_

_A Dragon Rider shouldn't be weighed down by responsibilities; we should be free to do as we wish and act upon the commands of our Order as and when we must … and as swiftly as the orders arrive to us._

_I suppose you're right._ Arya agreed softly before turning her back on the desk and watching Angela, Nasuada, Elene and Ismira fussing over the infant Orianah.

_You're jealous._

_Of what?_

_The baby._

_Why would I be jealous of a baby?_

_No … I meant jealous that Nasuada – and all your friends – are getting on with their lives … settling down and having families while you're just …_

_Existing without much of a purpose._

The doors opened then, and the men returned with Orik and his wife, Hvedra. The dwarf woman went directly to Nasuada and the infant child while Orik clapped Baldor on the shoulder in congratulations and asked that some mead, which he'd brought with him all the way from Farthen Dur, to be carried up to celebrate the arrival of the new heir. Then Orik spotted Fírnen snoozing in the corner – how he'd missed the huge beast was beyond Arya – and then casting his gaze around, he spotted Arya and beamed.

He hurried over and ignoring several thousand clauses and subtexts and all other official documents stating and explaining and dictating what must be done when two monarchs meet, hugged her tightly as best he could, despite his short stature."Arch it's good to see you Arya!"

"And you Orik," she smiled. Despite being Eragon's foster brother, and as sharp and quick as Nasuada, Roran and all the rest of her friends were when it came to the topic of Eragon and her; Orik was the only person who didn't try to trick her into admitting something simply for the satisfaction of knowing where here heart lay. And because of that fact, Orik was the only person Arya had ever chosen to confide in – other than Fírnen, but he didn't count since they shared every thought and emotion anyway. Although all she'd said was that she didn't want to think about it because why bother when Eragon wasn't here and why cause herself potential heartbreak when there was no need for it?

As her mind had been drifting, Orik had greeted the others and been brought up to speed on the current situation of the elven court. "You're abdicating?" he said bluntly to Arya from the other side of the room. She nodded once. "About bloody time."

Arya couldn't help herself when she laughed slightly at his words. "Enough; come both of you and let me be queen no longer."

And so, with Nasuada and Orik peering over her shoulder Arya sat down at the desk while Angela formerly read out the document and then handed it to her to sign. Why and when they'd chosen Angela to read it out none of them quite knew but for some reason it seemed fitting that she should act as the speaker.

"_And I hereby sign my name alongside the names of those chosen to witness my resignation and upon signing will I no longer be as of that moment the chosen to sit and act upon the Knotted Throne and shall give up my claim to be such a person along with the titles and privileges that are associated with the station. Thus do I sign as …_" Angela looked up and grinned before handing Arya the document and the ink pen she'd thrown across the room earlier.

Somewhat self-conscious of everyone watching, and well aware that was the whole point, Arya glanced once at Fírnen, who had one eye open, watching before dropping her gaze to the blank space at the bottom of the sheet. For a moment she hung in the balance over what to add after 'Arya' but then her dragon made her mind up for her. And she wrote at the bottom her name and left it at that.

She handed the pen to Nasuada who hastily scribbled her own name and title before passing it over to Orik who, upon finishing, handed it back to Angela so she could read it aloud. While Orik had taken lessons in how to read and write in the elven tongue during the time he'd spent in Ellesméra while Eragon and Saphira had been training, Nasuada had clearly learnt in the time since she'd taken control of what was the Empire.

"_Thus do I sign as Arya Islanzadísdaughter; and as my deed is witnessed by Queen Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad and by King Orik, Son of Thrifk am I hereby no longer the ruling monarch of Du Weldenvarden._" Angela carefully handed the document back to Arya, who rolled it up and sealed it by dripping hot wax onto it. Unlike the dwarves or humans, elves saw no need to place an identifying mark on the seal.

Stabbing into the flow of magic, Arya cast the spell she'd once uttered in desperation, and watched as the scroll disappeared with a blinding flash of emerald light. She knew it had arrived in the grass expanse outside Oromis's hut for she had a brief glimpse of that landscape as her magic deposited the document down. There was no turning back now. _Freedom at last … how strange it is._

* * *

A/N : _Yes, I stole the 'Freedom at last' line from the Les Miserable film/stage-show. It seemed to fit._


	9. Righting The Wrong

Far below, they spotted a blight in the landscape. Whereas the surrounding land was lush and full of life in the shadow of the Beor Mountains, this patch of land that Saphira was now circling seemed almost … dead. _Could that be …? _Eragon wondered, staring at the blemish below – it looked almost like an ugly disease that was starting to spread across the land so recently torn apart by a war that had lasted a century.

_Land and let us find out,_ Glaedr suggested. _But be careful, Shadeslayer … Brightscales._

_Yes master._

Drifting cautiously to the ground, Saphira tilted her wings as Eragon reached out with his mind to his surroundings, trying to determine if anyone or anything was about. However no shred of life, not one minuscule glimmer, remained in that spot around a lonely hill on the eastern most edge of the Beor Mountains. As she landed, a small puff of dust rose and was seized away by the breeze of early summer. Despite the height of the midday sun, the fact that the mountains were yet to cast a shadow and the absence of any whiff of clouds in the sky, Eragon shivered.

As he jumped down from Saphira's back, he glanced around wondering where this breach was supposed to be. In the back of his mind he sensed the collective minds of the eldunarí searching and watching and waiting. As he began to make his way to the crest of the small hill, he once again ran though his mind the overly complex and slightly twisted spell that Glaedr had painstakingly taught to him during the three weeks since he'd left the island and the elves.

_I don't see anything out of the ordinar-_

He broke off mid-sentence as he reached the top of the hill. From the sky above it was virtually invisible to see for the crack – the breach, the rupture – between their world and the next had no depth comprehensible or possible. He stood with the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms rising up as fear and awe settled over him in a cold flush. It was … full of possibilities too disastrous and awful to bear thinking about, yet the unknown gave him an oddly perverse desire to find out more; to yield to his curiosity and excitement and take that unimaginable step forwards … forwards into that light … so bright and so full … who knew what adventures – what lay beyond? All he wanted was a look … a glimpse … one little peek –

_Eragon!_

If it wasn't for Saphira and the awareness's of dragons long gone, Eragon might well have taken that fateful step forwards.

_You would not be dead; and not being dead would mean you could not come back. How can that path bring you life if you already have it? How can it send you away if you are not meant to be there? You would be trapped in the land of the dead but you would be alive … and you would not die._

Eragon shuddered as the dragon's mind withdrew. He hadn't known who it was, although he suspected it had been a wild dragon in life; wild and free and not at all afraid of anything other than death and the beyond. He retreated several steps and it was then that he noticed the rotting corpse of an earthy brown dragon and a dwarf.

Alarmed, Eragon dropped to one knee beside them; there were no wounds, no marks of battle … nor did he recognise the dragon and the Rider. It seemed that they had drained themselves of all energy – even that of their life-force – and had perished from exhaustion. Eragon wondered if they had been the ones to tear apart reality … then he dismissed the thought for where could they have learnt such a possibility from? _She _didn't know of it; of all the secrets Oromis had let slip to her, Eragon knew he'd never let this one out to someone who wasn't a Rider.

And all the while he had his back turned to the gap, he could not shake the feeling it was watching him and that it knew exactly what he was there to do; as if it was silently preparing itself to fight him tooth and nail to remain open. Eragon wondered how many of the dead had escaped through into life … images of people, half rotting and not quite dead or alive, roaming the streets of Dras Leona flashed across his mind and he shuddered.

Unless that second spell – the one designed to create a pathway to restore life – had actually worked of course … then there would be no not-quite-dead people roaming Alagaësia. Only fully alive people whose design and purpose was anyone's guess and everyone's concern … fully alive people who knew what death was like and who had no intention of returning there any time soon … and only the breach itself knew just who had been set free … his gut clenched as a list of names of those he definitely _didn't_ want back echoed through his mind.

… _Galbatorix … Durza … Morzan … Kialandí … Formora … Varaug …_

Though he'd never met any of the Forsworn, their reputations and the stories and tales of the horror they'd inflicted at Galbatorix's command was enough to cause him dread; the names of Murtagh's father and of the two who'd broken his master were among the names that would forever be feared throughout all of Alagaësia. Eragon suspected also that, without _her_ at his side he'd not survive an encounter with another Shade – be it one he'd already killed or helped kill or otherwise.

_Now we know what happened to the hatchlings. Whoever used the Forbidden Spells must've intercepted them when they were sent to us after completing their training in Ellesméra. _Saphira nudged the carcasses and lifted her head so her eye was on level with Eragon before adding, _they must have thought that they'd reached us. Otherwise they'd have contacted us long ago._ The dragon – smaller by far than Saphira – looked roughly to be around ten years or so of age … or at least it had been when alive.

Eragon nodded, his gaze turning once again to the dwarf and his dragon. _Once the breach is closed, we must burry them in stone. Else the dwarf's spirit won't reach his ancestors … I wonder what clan he was of_.

Getting to his feet and dusting off his trousers, Eragon turned once more to the reason he was here along with all the eldunarí; Du Wydra Nángorörh. The breach flexed threateningly at him as it began to convulse and flare – the blinding light reaching out beyond the borders of that crack as something began to happen on the other side. And he was supposed to _close _that? The task ahead seemed nearing on impossible … yet it must be possible for reality had been split had it not? Whoever it was who'd cast those Forbidden Spells had achieved the impossible so what's to say he couldn't?

_Ready?_ He asked, secretly hoping that Saphira and her brethren would say no.

_When you are little one._

Eragon squared his shoulders and took a deep breath as he dug into the flow of magic, joined and merged his mind first with Saphira, and then through her, the eldunarí. With the full might of the race of the dragons behind him, Eragon began to chant in a clear loud voice the words, phrases, formulas and sequences that would undo what had been done to the world; words that had the power to reverse Du Wydra Nángorörh … words that hadn't been uttered in millennia … not since the time of the Grey Folk.

He never could recall how long he spoke, how many times he had to repeat his mantra, but slowly … incredibly … reluctantly … that opening to the void began to fold in on itself and seemingly collapse inwards. Though it fought him – forcing him to commit more and more of the precious resources of energy from the eldunarí in his efforts to close and end what should never have been done and begun in the first place. At the point where the crack had shrunk and sunk into a dense blot hanging in the sky like a terrifying mockery of the sun, it seemed to stare at him with scorn as it flared spitefully again; he staggered and fell upon the ground writhing in agony as his back erupted into a torment of pain unlike any he'd endured since the days he'd been haunted by Durza's curse.

A soundless howl escaped his lips.

He knew not what happened …

… insanity seemed to reign upon that hilltop …

… Saphira roared and threw herself into the sky …

… the eldunarí jabbered and screamed and several let out feats of inexplicable magic – shattering most of them into dust …

… Glaedr called out to someone …

… two shadows of light erupted from the point where the edges of the crack all folded together and met …

… the breach collapse in on itself and the radiating soundless explosion flattened the surrounding dead land …

… the magic released him …

… he lay on the ground, his arms curled round his knees, covered in dust, trembling from head to foot …

… the echo of Durza's curse ripping him apart all over again …

… he couldn't …

… didn't know …

… anything …

… who was he …

… _what_ was he?

_Soon afterwards Eragon fell victim to three bouts of agony while fighting Vanir and then two more during the Rimgar. As he uncurled from the clenched ball he had rolled into, Oromis said, "Again Eragon. You must perfect your balance." _

_Eragon shook his head and growled in an undertone, "No," he crossed his arms to hide his tremors._

_"What?"_

_"No."_

_"Get up, Eragon, and try again."_

_"No! Do the pose yourself; I won't." _

_Oromis knelt beside Eragon and placed a cool hand on his cheek. Holding it there, he gazed at Eragon with such kindness, Eragon understood the depth of the elf's compassion for him, and that, if it were possible, Oromis would willingly assume Eragon's pain to relieve his suffering. "Don't abandon hope," said Oromis. "Never that." A measure of strength seemed to flow from him to Eragon. "We are the Riders. We stand between the light and the dark and keep the balance between the two. Ignorance, fear, hate: these are our enemies. Deny them with all your might Eragon or we will surely fail." he stood and extended a hand towards Eragon. "Now rise, Shadeslayer, and prove you can conquer the instincts of your flesh!"_

_Eragon took a deep breath and pushed himself on one arm, wincing from the effort. He got his feet underneath himself, paused for a moment, then straightened to his full height and looked Oromis in the eye. _

_The elf nodded with approval._

He was standing, his chest heaving and his fists clenched tightly, staring with a stubborn acceptance and understanding. Oromis stood before him, staring at Eragon like he would an equal … like he would a son … pride etched upon the old Rider's timeless face as he placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder.

The sound of a sword being drawn startled Eragon, and he staggered back as Oromis pushed him aside, spinning to meet whoever it was; he'd grabbed Brisingr from the sheath at Eragon's hip and met the blow from the thin steel blade with a wire-thin scratch curving down the middle. Twice more was Oromis able to meet that blade and counter it, before he staggered on the uneven ground and fell. Eragon seized his sword, the weight familiar to him like the hand of an old friend or the touch of a lover that was forever in the heart.

He swung Brisingr round faster than Oromis could, with a confidence of one whose hands had actually _made_ the sword. He was weak from the drain of the spell to close the breach, from the torment of his spontaneous fit and from having spent the past three weeks lacking in sleep as he and Saphira had journeyed as fast as they could to get to where they were. Yet he managed, somehow, to hold his own against the owner of the sword. His gaze flickered up and he nearly lost all concentration as shock and dread filled him – he knew that face.

"Durza."

The Shade flinched as Eragon spoke his name and snarled. Yet it seemed death had weakened him as it had Oromis – for no attack came at Eragon on his mind, and nor did he think he was capable of maintaining one himself. "You've gotten stronger," he acknowledged reluctantly before slipping his sword past Eragon's and slicing him across his bicep, forcing Eragon to switch hands. He lunged somewhat blindly and felt Brisingr bite into the Shade's flesh as it sunk into Durza's chest … missing the black heart by inches.

As had happened when Murtagh shot him through the head, Durza dissolved into a smoky wisp and fled to reform someplace else, at some time in the near future. Eragon let Brisingr slip from his fingers as he dropped to the ground, exhausted.

_Saphira,_ he wondered, _where are you?_

* * *

A/N : _'soon afterwards Eragon fell' is on page 401 of the hardback edition of Eldest, the chapter titled 'The Oblitorator' _


	10. By The Campfire

The fire was crackling merrily and hissed as Eragon dumped another branch into its depths; he was too impatient for the flames to become hot enough to cook for he was ravenous. Across the fire sat Oromis, who in contrast to Eragon, was waiting patiently despite the fact he was no doubt as hungry as the young Rider on account for not having eaten anything since he'd died. Eragon and Saphira – and the eldunarí that had survived, which thankfully included Glaedr – were all awaiting an explanation for what had occurred on that hilltop. Oromis it seemed was in no hurry to offer one.

While he was over joyed at his master's return, he couldn't help but feel a nagging sense of disappointment – why couldn't his father have come back instead?

"Because you don't need him." Eragon blinked and looked up across the fire.

"What?"

"Your thoughts are written across your face Eragon." The Rider told him with a gentle smile, "Now whether that's just due to your exhaustion – to laziness or to the fact that death brings all kinds of enlightenments, I do not know …" he shrugged, "But in answer to your poorly phrased query; Brom did not walk the path as I did because you no longer need him there to guide your steps and to catch you if you should stumble. Because you have proved yourself a man who needs not his father's protection. He'd only be in your way, if he was to return … only a bystander."

A lump of emotion formed in Eragon's throat, and he swallowed. "Not a bystander never that, ebrithil …" he whispered, before amending, "but maybe a provider of a hoard of unnecessary advice and criticism."

Saphira hummed in amusement to that as Oromis allowed himself a wry smile. "Let it alone," he chided as Eragon tugged at the strip of coarse cloth tied round his upper right arm in the form of a crude bandage. He'd had no strength left to heal the wound with magic so Oromis had sewn it shut instead, he himself having just enough energy required to transform a small glob of copper they found in the ground into a needle. "Else it'll take twice as long to heal."

"Yes master."

Oromis surveyed him over the fire, his long fingers knitted together and his face unreadable. Finally he stirred, "In theory we ought to be spending the time while the fire heats to hand out explanations to one another … yet if you two prefer silence then so be it."

Eragon shifted, but it was Saphira who responded. _And prey tell what you would do in our situation master? When one you practically watched die – he whom taught you near enough all that's kept you alive these past years – stands tall once more having shaken of death so casually … do you not expect silence as the unimaginable is attempted to be understood?_

"I expect nothing less – but there was no mere accident that today brought us all together once more. While I can understand you surprise and your shock, what you must understand is that this is far from over. You understand the theory of Du Wydra Nángorörh – let that be enough of an explanation for now, please … there are more urgent topics to discuss."

"But no one called you through," Eragon protested. "I understand the theory enough yes; enough to know that you must call one through else they will not come."

His master sighed. "Yes. I know. As it happens I _was_ called through – although not by any purpose or design but by accident …" the elf stared long and hard into the flames. "The one whom was meant to come back, the reason Du Wydra Nángorörh was uttered in the first place, _you_ so utterly destroyed when you killed him that the void would not yield him."

Eragon frowned, his master's oddly twisted way of phrasing things forcing him to actually _think_ about what had just been said. "Someone uttered the Forbidden Spells to bring back Galbatorix … and you're saying that he did not come."

"No. He did not. Another slipped through in his stead."

"Who?"

"Morzan."

A cold hand seemed to clutch at his gut and twist it into an ugly knot. Why Morzan? Why his father's most hated enemy? The man his father had once loved as a brother … of all the Forsworn to return why did it have to be Galbatorix's most loyal and devoted disciple?

_Who called you through ebrithil?_ Saphira asked then, lifting her head off the ground and staring at their master even as he stared into the fire.

"In the chaos that ruled upon the hill in the few moments before the breach collapsed and closed, did insanity not domain? I heard my name echo through the tear between the worlds and let it guide me out; there was only one who _could_ call through to me for he is the only living awareness or being that knows – or knew – who I was and am." Eragon lifted his gaze and met that of his master's as comprehension dawned. He had heard that cry, but not made any sense of it in the midst of his spontaneous fit.

"Glaedr."

Yet the dragon had made no attempt to contact his Rider; Eragon suspected he wasn't quite sure what to be thinking and feeling. That and he knew their bond was never going to be what it had once been; after so many years separation – one in death and the other trapped in his own mind – to be reconciled again was no easy feat, even if they had once inhabited each other as completely and utterly as Eragon and Saphira did.

_You said that death brings enlightenment, Oromis_. One of the surviving eldunarí said then, reaching out to both Riders and the dragon. _Do you know who is responsible for such a crime as this? For threatening the safety of all that dwell here in this world?_

"Murtagh and Thorn."

"What!" Eragon leapt to his feet, "But he broke free of Galbatorix! He helped … helped to slay Shruikan and win the battle … no … no, master, you've got it wrong." Whether or not Oromis knew that he'd had to alter his sentence to avoid uttering _her_ name or not was of little importance. All Eragon knew was that Murtagh – his brother – could not have done this.

"Sit down Eragon; and let us talk." Eragon sat, although he could not bring himself to accept what his master had just said – at least not yet.

_Do you believe it?_

_I don't know … it seems unlikely for they _did_ break free from the restraints and oaths they were bound with. I cannot see them wanting to bring back that mad king for he would surely reward their efforts by binding them again all the tighter._

Oromis watched them both as they turned their attention and focus upon him. "Before we being let me tell you that I am aware of everything that has occurred since my demise. You cannot hide from the dead …" he shook his head, "let me see if I can explain this … suffice to say that I haven't witnessed it as such – as in the void is not merely a land filled with windows through which to watch the `events of this one … yet nor is it that I have been told of the events like a narrative; I simply _know_ what has happened."

With a wry smile Eragon said, "You realise that makes no sense, ebrithil? But I shall take your word for it and let you continue," he added.

The elf nodded, his attention once again upon the flickering flames as he ordered his thoughts and pondered what to say next. For a long moment he said nothing then; "I do not know how he discovered the Spells, nor why he uttered them … I can only assume it is some design long planned before Galbatorix's death. But for whatever reason is irrelevant at this moment. Know this then; the eggs that you left here in Alagaësia hatched roughly ten years ago now to a dwarf and to an Urgal. As you'd no doubt planned, Arya and Fírnen –"

"You know about that then?" Eragon couldn't help interrupt. Oromis gave him a calculated look, rebuking him for interrupting so. "Forgive me," Eragon murmured.

On the contrary Oromis just seemed amused; "I have already told you; I _know_ of the events that have taken place – do not ask me how I know, but I do know." He frowned and returned to his earlier trail of thought, "Arya and Fírnen taught them best they could with what little knowledge they have and a year or so later, maybe as much as eighteen months, the hatchlings were sent to join you and Saphira and the other elves in the east."

_Only they did not arrive_. Glaedr murmured then, Oromis looked up sharply at his dragon's words but Glaedr said no more and nor did he reach out to his Rider. After a moment, with an unreadable expression upon his face, Oromis continued.

"Again I cannot and do not know why, but for whatever reasons Murtagh and Thorn chose to intercept the hatchlings and take them into his own apprenticeship. Whether willingly or not is irrelevant for Morzan's spawn will surely know of Galbatorix's methods of creating name-slaves … we cannot know if it was a chance meeting – a spur of the moment decision – or a plan years in the making, but it seemed that Murtagh needed the hatchlings – or their strength – to complete the ritual required to rip apart reality as he did.

"All that I do know is that the dwarf Rider and his dragon died in the process … as you no doubt saw the evidence … and that Murtagh, Thorn, Morzan and the Urgal Rider and his dragon are somewhere in Alagaësia. But what they plan and have planed … that is beyond my knowledge. We now face once more the unknown and must strive to counter it without knowing its design. It will not be easy – but nothing we Riders stand for and must guard against ever is."

Silence took hold of their little camp as Oromis threw a couple more branches onto the fire before deciding that it was hot enough to start cooking upon. While he busied himself with supper, Eragon took the time to go over his master's words … he saw no reason for trickery in them, nor did what he said seem to be anything other than the truth as Oromis interpreted it. But it bothered him, acknowledging the fact that Murtagh was behind all this – that Murtagh was the reason he'd woken that night after dreaming of the event … he knew now who it had been he'd watched utter the spells and stride forth through that gap.

_Now what?_ He wondered absently, running a hand through his hair and staring out into the bleak landscape around them. They had left the hill in search of surroundings that didn't reek of death and decay, arriving at the spot beside a gurgling stream just metres from the area that was dead land. Oromis had told him – not that he really needed telling – that was the result of what happens when energy is taken from the land and everything in it. The very earth beneath their feet dies and therefore has nothing to sustain new life into fresh grass and plants. Forever would that lowly hilltop be a blight on the landscape – a reminder of the price power came at.

They ate in silence, too hungry and exhausted to speak. Saphira curled round the fire and had long since drifted off into slumber. Eragon knew she'd wait until she'd rested before flying out in search for some game large enough and plentiful enough for her to hunt. As he finished the last of the simple yet substantial meal Oromis had cooked, Eragon let out a sigh and glanced to the hill where the bodies of the first dwarven Rider and his dragon lay abandoned.

Getting to his feet without a word, he trudged up to the crest of the hill and once again knelt down in the dust beside them. _Ebrithilar,_ Eragon whispered to the eldunarí, _will you lend me your strength so that I may lay this Rider and his dragon to rest?_ They said that they would and so he set about searching the surrounding nearby for a deposit of rock large enough to encase the dragon's body. A large quantity of the reddish granite that was used to build Bregan Hold – ancestral home to Dûrgrimst Ingietum – lay by a stream.

He carried the dwarf over himself, but used magic to lift the dragon. Once they were laid side by side, Eragon stepped back and said, as he'd once done so long ago when he'd told Murtagh in no uncertain terms that he was going to burry Brom, "Reisa du stenr." The rock rose up, flowing seamlessly into a vault around the forms of the Rider and dragon, his magic shaping until the rock had sealed shut over the top, like the lid of a tomb. Then did Eragon struggle to remember the words that he'd been taught by Gannel – the spiritual leader of the dwarves – so many years ago. Stumbling over the dwarvish, he recited the prayers appropriate, pleading with the appropriate gods and finished by saying in the ancient language, "sé ono stydja unin mor'ranr."

Oromis had come up behind him as he'd worked and they stood now together in a moment silent respect for the dead hatchlings. With a few whispered words, Oromis carved glyphs into the rock face, marking it as the resting place of the first dwarven Dragon Rider and his dragon. Eragon found it rather sad to know that they both would remain unnamed in death; unnamed and most probably unknowingly lost too.

"Now what?" he wondered out loud, Saphira's snores reaching them both from their impromptu camp on the other side of the hill.

"Now?" Oromis questioned, "Now it is time for you and Saphira to return home. For even if you are not of present, you soon will be sorely needed … Fírnen and Arya cannot hope to combat this evil alone – nor are they prepared to. There is too much that they do not know."

Eragon flashed a tired grin at his master, "Regretting not letting slip more of our Order's secrets to her ebrithil?" he teased.

A fond smile lightened the elf's face as he no doubt recalled the time he'd taken to tutor Arya in the ways of magic. "To this day I cannot recall why or how she wangled them out of me … that child had the innocence of youth about her and a countenance that could melt your heart in less time than it took for a single beat … within moments of birth did she capture so skilfully the heart of me and nearly all of my race for she was and is the first true born elf in almost a century and a half." Oromis sighed, "That girl was born to be free," he mused. "Yet fate decided she be born to a king and so then it could tormented her with the agony of choice."

Eragon followed the old elf back to their campfire and sat down beside Saphira's vast bulk. "She's a good queen," he muttered, not really sure he was able to cope brooding over her for long, lest his thoughts turn bitter at the loss of what could've been.

"Of course she is," Oromis agreed, "she is, after all, her parents' daughter … but yet her temperament is not one for sitting still and staying put and doing nothing; she is far too much like her father in that respect … and far to like her mother in others." He shook his head and smiled somewhat sadly across at Eragon. "Enough talk; we must rest … tomorrow … tomorrow we will decide what to do and where to go from here."

As Eragon was laying down beside Saphira, gazing up at the star strewn sky, that he let his mind drift off in thoughts of her … of Arya … over the past years he'd refused to let himself tarry over long on what ifs and could have beens for they were too painful. Yet she had never – not once – been far from his mind; no matter what happened thoughts about her and of her were always swirling at the back of his mind … not his mind he realised now, but his heart. He'd learnt simply not to listen to them …

In the few moments before slumber took him, a startlingly clear realisation hit him and suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to resolve it; to get up and act upon it immediately.

_I miss her_.


	11. The Last Night

To say the elves were over joyed and shocked when Oromis clambered down from Saphira's saddle behind Eragon was a slight understatement. After a brief explanation of what had happened at Du Garjzla Arget and a very vague account of the whys and wherefores, the elves decided they could not deny that Oromis had indeed returned from the void. Eragon watched enchanted as several of them joined hands and danced in circles round him – very much as Lifaen, Narí, and the others had done when Arya had led them to Ceris. A somewhat foolish grin appeared on his master's face as he beheld the frivolous behaviour and quirks of his kin.

Adiré then led them all in a series of songs and dances as they gathered round the driftwood fire on the common before the sea, watching the sun setting behind the ship moored at the end of the jetty. Only when the fire had died down, the faelnirv running low and the lazy smell of good food long consumed, did a full narrative of Eragon and Saphira's adventure get told. Eragon had discovered – or been told – in the years spent upon their little island of isolation, that he'd inherited his father's ability to tell a good story. And accordingly, he did spin a slight embellishment of his and Saphira's latest quest as the elves listened raptly.

"It is good, that you saw fit to bury the dwarf Rider accordingly," Lëyri said then, sitting beside Adiré with her hands resting on her swollen abdomen. In the weeks since he'd let she seemed to have gotten even bigger – although he refrained from mentioning that to her since he was keen to keep her temper at bay. Oromis had reacted to the news in silence; neither offering up congratulations or his opinion on the matter as he sat in thoughtful reflectiveness, listening to the elves and Eragon banter and chat with easy and comfortableness. Saphira had gone off hunting in preparation for their long journey back home.

"Even if burning is customary for a Rider's funeral."

Eragon had forgotten Lëyri had been speaking.

During the journey back to their haven, Eragon had had a minor epiphany in terms of Lëyri and how he felt about her. She was a friend. Nothing more … a friend whom he'd let believe that there was more to how he felt – that there _could_ be more to what he felt. A friend he'd led on unintentionally and who refused to accept that was all she was ever going to be to him. He did not – nor had he ever – love her. As Blödhgarm had pointed out so clearly; Eragon's problem lay with a certain emerald dragon and his Rider back in Du Weldenvarden. Although how he felt about _her_ was by no means clear to him anymore. Time and distance had distorted and confused him and now there was no way for him to know where he stood with her.

"Eragon … are you with us?"

He blinked.

Across from him the elf Beaum chuckled. "I'll not ask whom it was occupying your mind," he said with a grin, "but that is beside the issue. You wish us to return?"

Eragon nodded. "Oromis, Saphira and I shall – taking with us the surviving eldunarí and the dragon eggs. If you wish to remain then we will not stop you; if you wish to return then again, we will not stop you."

"Take the night to think about it," Oromis suggested, speaking for the first time that evening. The elves nodded and the subject was dropped as they drifted onto less important topics, such as how early summer had come upon them, and if this would mean an even earlier and longer winter to follow.

"Ebrithil," an elf woman across from Eragon asked then, "you say that you were called through the breach by Glaedr, and that Morzan came because Galbatorix could not … yet who called through that fiend? Who wanted the Shade back into life?"

It was a question Eragon wondered why he had not already posed to his master. He awaited the reply with the rest, turning his head and reaching out to brush Saphira's mind as she landed beside them in the soft sand of the beach.

"I do not know," he said simply. "Maybe it is because he is and was a Shade, possessed by spirits, that he was able to slip out … maybe coincidence had it that the very spirits that had been freed from him were at or near Du Wydra Nángorörh at the time … who can say? I do not know … maybe it was simply a mistake – a fault in Murtagh's wording of the Spells that enabled that monster to once more roam the land." He looked out across the sea. "I only hope we can find Arya and warn her of his return before he finds her … that, I fear, would break her."

Lëyri had watched Eragon intently when _her_ name was mentioned. Eragon had done his uttermost best to remain impassive, although it was difficult owing to his laps that night a few weeks back when he had allowed himself to think of her. Lëyri's eyes narrowed slightly, but before she could speak it was decided that they ought to turn in early – so they would at least have ample time before dawn to think over whether or not they wanted to return home.

Oromis followed Eragon along the jetty to the ship as Saphira lifted her head from the sand. Only when the two Riders had clambered aboard did she heave herself into the sky and glide across the open water to land gently upon the deck of the ship without causing more than a slight rocking from side to side.

They came to a halt outside an empty cabin and Oromis turned his wise face to Eragon and said; "So Lëyri is pregnant."

"With my child, yes."

"So she says."

Eragon looked sharply at his master, frowning. "You think she's lying?" he asked. "Yet that is not possible for we speak solely in the ancient language here."

"I think," Oromis said carefully, "that she herself isn't sure whose child she's carrying."

_You think she's been playing him, ebrithil?_ Saphira asked then, and radiating through their link he sensed an overwhelming need on her part to protect him. _You think she's been so openly saying he is hers and yet going behind his back to another's arms._

"She isn't foolish enough to pine away after affection she knows isn't going to come – no matter how long the wait … but something doesn't seem quite right in calling that child yours." He shook his head and smiled slightly apologetically at Eragon, who was now recounting everything Lëyri had said to him since announcing she was pregnant. "Forgive me; you were happy before I spoke."

"Content," Eragon corrected. "Not happy; content." Maybe it was because she was reluctant to accept he did not love her as she did him, that she so adamantly believed the child to be his. He did not know – and was _not_ about to go charging over to her house demanding answers at such a late hour. It could wait until the morning. "Or at least, I was until you came back and decided to question everything."

Oromis smiled, but with a weary understanding in his eyes and Eragon suddenly realised _why_ the elf had made the assumptions he had; once upon a time he himself had stood in Eragon's position and once upon a time he had gotten his hopes up only for them to be shattered. "Sometimes we need a new perspective to come along and question everything – if only so we do not get so attached to what we think we know. The unsettling confusion often leads to new roads and paths we did not know existed … or had forgotten were there."

"Goodnight ebrithil," Eragon said then.

"Goodnight … _Bromsson_."

He felt an unmistakable glow of pride at that name and with a somewhat foolish grin on his face he headed down the corridor to his own cabin and shut the door. _What if the child isn't mine?_ Eragon asked Saphira as he laid back on the bunk.

_You cannot miss what you've never had_, she said pointedly.

_But I have had this – or believed I had it … if this child is not mine … can I really let this be taken from me before it has even begun?_

_Better now, before there the child has come, than later when it is here and firmly in your heart._ But the child was already in his heart, and Saphira knew that. _Oh little one … Oromis does not know for certain – and he would not put this doubt into your mind unless he believed there was a good reason to._

_I know … it's just … why can't my life be simple and straight forwards? It used to be … a long time ago now it was simple and straight forwards, yet now everything is twisted and full of double – sometimes triple – meanings and hidden plots. Why did my life get so utterly complex?_

In a whisper Saphira said, _Because I chose you._

_Yes._ He agreed, _out of everyone, you chose me … although for the life of me I cannot fathom why._ He sensed her amusement before she bade him goodnight and settled back down to sleep. Eragon lay awake until the dusky night paled away to dawn, his mind full of confusion and chaos for he had a myriad of things that had to be done and countered and so forth. At least, now, he knew what it was he had been missing over the past years. That sense of something uncompleted and unfinished had been explained instantly when Oromis told him that it was Murtagh; Murtagh who had ripped apart reality and dare to do what was forbidden.

With dawn came morning, and the sun rose high behind the island, bright and cool and full of promises. He paced the deck of the ship, far too preoccupied to join his friends for breakfast and so it was that around mid-morning Adiré clambered to the deck and stood in Eragon's path to gain his attention.

"What is it?"

"We're coming with you."

"What?"

"We're coming with you," the elf repeated. "Home. All of us … we're going home with you and master Oromis."

Eragon blinked several times. "That …" he said, "that is good. Good news … yes. Good. I did not like the thought of leaving you behind – it seemed wrong of me to do so yet I could not force you to return."

The elf smiled, he looked a lot like his uncle probably would if he wasn't covered in blue-black fur from head to toe. "With your permission, we'll begin loading up the ship with what we need for the voyage …" he looked slyly at Eragon, "I suggest you do your best to tidy up any mess you may or may not have created over the years."

"Go on – be off with you! Do something useful and show Oromis where we store the eldunarí and the eggs …" the eldunarí had been reduced to no more than a dozen or so glowing orbs, all of which were safely stored in a velvet lined chest hidden under Eragon's bunk. Somehow he'd always know the elves would return with him.

"Saphira has already taken him there."

"Well go and get your things together and pack then!"

"I did that last night."

Eragon looked at Blödhgarm's young nephew. Though older than him by more than a century, Adiré seemed in temperament years younger. He almost seemed to idolise Eragon at times in the way young boys do their heroes … it unnerved him at times, yet knew Adiré meant him no harm or disrespect.

"Fine. You can help me tidy up this lump of floating tree."

The rest of the day passed in an almost frenzied hast as Eragon, Oromis, Saphira and the elves loaded and packed the ship with all their belongings and supplies. Eragon was by no means surprised when Oromis volunteered to have the cabin stuffed to the rafters with documents and books and scrolls of knowledge. Many of them had come from the Rider's own library in his hut … Eragon had pilfered them from their shelves in his last few days in Ellesméra.

The unhatched dragon eggs – wild and bonded – were hidden in their own pocket of time and space with that handy spell the eldunarí taught Eragon back on Vorengaurd inches behind Oromis. Saphira's dragon armour, much too small for her now as it was, had been stored in the hull of the ship along with other items like food drink, materials and large items the elves had not wanted to leave behind – such as a sculptured swan made from both a dark mahogany and the rose quartz and a life-sized portrait of Blödhgarm's mother, Ildrid the Beautiful. The elves were not above their materialistic vanity it seemed.

There was no small amount of chagrin over leaving behind their homes, which, Eragon was grateful for, they could not bring with them although privately Eragon and Saphira suspected that if there was a way then the elves would insist on them being packed into the already over-flowing ship. By the time dusk once more fell, they were ready to set sail. They spent one final night round that campfire upon the yellow beach with the young forest behind them, singing and laughing and dancing and enjoying each other's company.

And then Oromis had to go and ruin the evening by pulling Lëyri aside and asking her outright who the father of her unborn child was. Thank fully only Eragon, Saphira, Beaum and Adiré remained by the fire as the other elves had long since sought the comfort of their beds for a final time. Lëyri looked at Oromis with something akin to dislike upon her delicate face … her silver hair glinting in the light of the moon and the fire. She _was_ beautiful, Eragon reasoned, but his heart just didn't seem to want her.

"What sort of question is _that_?" she demanded, pulling her arm out of his hold. Through Saphira, he could sense Glaedr's disapproval for his Rider's out rightness, for it was definitely out of character for the old elf, but Eragon also knew that being direct was probably the only way of getting a clear and straight answer from Lëyri.

"Do not mistake me for a fool; I may have died but I have not forgotten. The hurt of being told one thing to have the truth counter it … I will _not_ let you do that to Eragon."

In a quiet voice Lëyri said, "And what right do you have to act so? He is not your son is he? He is the son of Brom and only does his father have the right to ask such a thing of me!"

"No," Oromis agreed, "I am not his father … but that does not mean I cannot view him as the son I was denied does it? Be that as it may, you – and every elf – know of what I speak and you know that I would not ask this of you lightly."

_The son he was denied?_

_Everyone seems to be fighting over the right to love you_, Saphira remarked, _luckily there is no dispute to my claim on you._

_No one would dare to dispute you_, Eragon replied. _Nor would I let them_, he added.

_Hush little one, I want to know if my objections to her had a solid grounding._

_You mean your jealousy. _She snorted indignantly but let it go.

Lëyri had looked away from the Rider, her gaze drifting first to Eragon and then, surprisingly, to Adiré. He nodded once. She closed her eyes and straightened. "Truth?" she asked, "you want the truth?"

"The truth would be nice," Eragon said as pleasantly as he could, although he suspected the niceness couldn't supress the sarcastic undertone. Beaum rolled his eyes in response to that sarcasm.

"Truth is I don't know."

_You, don't … know_. Saphira repeated sceptically.

But it was the truth for there was no way in the ancient language for her to manoeuvre out of such an absolute answer. "I do not know whose child this is."

"There are spells that can – perhaps – determine at least the genetics of the child … in other words we can find out if it is fully an elf or otherwise." Oromis offered, though his tone told Eragon that he had already made his mind up on what the outcome would be.

Suddenly Eragon didn't care; he was sick and tired of her games, of always second guessing her and letting her get her own way so as to avoid a shouting match … sick and tired of all the trickery she employed to keep him in her arms. He didn't need to ask who the other might be nor did he wait to hear Oromis's verdict; instead he jumped onto Saphira's back and let her carry him back to the ship where he spent the rest of the night at the rail, staring unseeingly west, and wondering idly if _she_ was awake and if _she_ happened to be glancing his way. Since that dream he'd let himself think more and more of _her_.

_I'm coming home,_ he thought, _we're coming home._


	12. Land Ahead!

_B__last this cursed ship!_ He muttered silently to himself as he stood at the prow, watching his homeland draw ever closer. Eragon didn't remember the stifling confinement of the _Talítha_ getting to him last time he was voyaging aboard it. But then last time they hadn't been hurrying to return to Alagaësia before untold misery and danger was set loose upon it. And last time Lëyri hadn't been less than a month away from giving birth; it seemed to be hormonal overload and Eragon remembered the times his cousin, Roran, had sought his company in the dead of night during the latter stages of Katrina's pregnancy – not that Katrina knew that for Roran had slipped out while she was asleep seeking a respite from the emotions that for inexplicable reasons seemed to grip women at certain times.

It seemed that Oromis had at least lifted that burden from Eragon for upon completing his spells he had announced firmly that the child Lëyri was bearing was entirely elven. "Even if your genetics have been completely altered from the Agaetí Blödhren, there would be traces of dragons and the bond you have with Saphira in the make-up of the child. As you know, a Rider cannot completely call himself either elven or human – or dwarven or an Urgal now it seems – for in our blood flows the blood of dragons." He had placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder as they stood together five days into their voyage at the aft of the ship. "I'm sorry … but it is not your child she carries."

He'd not spoken to anyone other than Saphira and the eldunarí since then. Either Oromis or Lëyri herself or Saphira had told the rest of the elves the news because he saw them muttering to each other when they thought he wasn't watching. It made him feel sick; after sixteen years of companionship and openness why had they so readily and so suddenly returned to the instinctual need elves have for gossiping and talking about someone behind their backs? He supposed it was the fact they were returning home; forthrightness was not overly encouraged among the elves, nor was it common …

But, as Saphira had pointed out, at least now he didn't have to worry about the upcoming distraction of a new born child; he could focus entirely upon the task at hand without the fear that someone would discover that he had an heir and try to take that from him. Perhaps this was the best outcome for all involved – including the child. He was hardly father material anyway … nor would he make a particularly good father …

Despite all that, he couldn't brush aside his disappointment … or the pain of having a life to be told it wasn't even his. Eragon had loved that child – and he still did and would until his dying day no doubt – but he knew he now had no right to love the child Lëyri was carrying inside her. The child she had insisted and believed to be his. Eragon didn't know who he was angrier at; Lëyri for tricking him in the first place, or Oromis for exposing the trickery.

_Little one … one day, I promise, you will have a family too. A child who will call you father and adore you for all time. A child who will make you as proud as you made your father._

With a small sigh Eragon replied; _I doubt my life will allow for such simplicity Saphira. There will always be those who will seek to destroy me and any family I have. How can I allow such a thing to happen or to risk the lives of a family I desire? At least now Lëyri and the child will be safe and no one will seek to harm them to get to me._

_Would that have worked?_ Saphira said. _If anyone harmed the child, yes … but Lëyri? I doubt it. You wouldn't have taken the world apart to avenge her or find her if anything had happened to her would you?_

_No …_ Eragon whispered, _no I wouldn't have because I do not love her enough. She is a friend and if anything were to happen I'd extend the same efforts to countering whatever happend as I would for Katrina and Nasuada … but no. I would not, as you put it, tear the world apart to find or avenge her._

Saphira was silent for a while as she drifted overhead in the lofty clouds. _And if it were Arya?_ His dragon asked in a quiet voice._ If something happened to her?_

Eragon blocked her from his thoughts and shut her out without answering. But she didn't need an answer for his reaction had been answer enough; he didn't know. How could he know? She had never left his heart in those sixteen years but what hold exactly did she have on his heart? For the feelings he'd had for her before he knew now had been little more than a childhood infatuation … and yet … yet they had not diminished nor gone away. If anything they had grown into something more and pure and in those final few months _something_ had changed enough for him to dare ask where he stood with her and what would become of them.

_Time,_ she had said. She needed time. Was that still the case? Or had time enough passed for her even without him there beside her? Did she herself know what it was between them now – or was she as confused and clueless as he was? Or had she chosen to turn aside and take his leaving as a sign that his heart was never wholly hers to begin with? And why was he thinking of her like this? Why now – _now_ after all this time of shunting thoughts of her aside and ignoring them, why did they consume him like this, throw him into doubt and waft uncertainty upon him? Was it the release from his obligation to Lëyri? Or his impending return to Alagaësia? Would she even be the same person he'd known in that war … or had her time hidden away in the elves' capital rubbed off on her enough that she'd become something of her mother; a woman capable of great deeds but far too fond of the privileges and luxuries peace afforded her.

Then he shook his head. This was Arya he was thinking about. She would never be so petty … all the same doubt continued to gnaw at him for his only concern – his primary worry – was that his best friend had ceased to exist as the woman he'd known. Eragon was certain that whatever it was he was about to face – that whatever Murtagh was planning – he could not do it, he could not face it and meet it, without his best of friends at his side. Right then he didn't care if she loved him or not – or even if he still loved her; he cared that he still had that one person he trusted above all others save Saphira. He cared that Arya still trusted him above everyone other than Fírnen. He cared that what they'd had during that war had not gone away.

"I have a message for you; apparently you're blocking her from your thoughts so Saphira has asked me to rely a message." Beaum came up to stand beside him.

"What?" Eragon demanded in a growl, not sure he even wanted relayed messages from his dragon just then. Surely she knew what kind of reaction her question would have triggered in him?

"Land ho." The elf said with a perfectly straight face. Eragon blinked and then jumped up to stand on the very forefront of the ship's prow, balancing upon the top of the figurehead with balance he'd improved during his time on that island. Grabbing hold of one of the countless ropes that stretched across the deck Eragon craned hid neck as he stared intently at the horizon, waiting impatiently to see what Saphira already could.

Eventually the smudge upon that horizon began to merge and change into some semblance of normality and he let a grin lighten up his face and his mood – which had been nothing but dark and melancholy for the past three weeks – as he saw, for the first time in sixteen years, his homeland. Letting the power of the ancient language fill his voice, Eragon cried out; "Land ahead!" and heard the scurrying elves all hurry to the railings in order to catch that first glance of their long abandoned homeland.

Alagaësia.

_You're not still angry with me are you?_ Saphira asked sheepishly as she tentatively touched Eragon's mind when she realised he was no longer blocking her completely from him.

_I just … I'm scared she won't be the friend I left behind. That I've lost that one person who knew me and understood me and trusted me for _who_ I am, not what I am._

_Your bond with Arya … it runs deeper than simple friendship Eragon. We all knew that right from the word go._ Glaedr told him then. _But what exactly that is … _he gave a mental shrug, _time will tell us I am sure of it._

_Why aren't you speaking to Oromis, ebrithil?_ Eragon asked, determined to steer the conversation away from himself and whatever it was that may or may not exist between him and the Rider of the green dragon. The great gold dragon huffed – or he would've if he could – and said nothing. Eragon could sense him sulking in the back of Saphira's mind and grinned as an understanding enlightened him; Glaedr, it seemed, wasn't quite ready to forgive his Rider for dying just yet. _Oh … right … because you're above such childish antics aren't you master?_

_Is he necessary?_ Glaedr demanded of the other eldunarí and Saphira. _Do we really need him?_

_I … I'm afraid so old friend,_ a female eldunarí replied in a mild voice clearly trying hard not to let her amusement show, _he is sort of essential._

_How annoying._

_But he does have a point … punishing Oromis for something out of his control … it is rather infantile don't you think?_

But Glaedr didn't respond so the other eldunarí fell silent too, leaving Eragon and Saphira to try hard not to laugh at their master's antics. It was a hard task to master and they both knew their mirth wasn't at all helping the gold dragon's pride or his ego or his decision to stop punishing his Rider for something that he hadn't done on purpose; after all it wasn't only Glaedr that was hurting now for Eragon had seen the suffering in his master's eyes and the envy when he looked at Saphira that he wasn't able to fully conceal. Oromis now bore an expression that Eragon remembered his father having whenever Saphira was around; agonizing envy at a loss that only one who had suffered could understand.

It wasn't hard to understand why Galbatorix had descended into madness as he had.

"Shadeslayer …" Eragon glanced over his shoulder, remembering Beaum was still there, "Your orders my lord?" He caught Oromis's eye over the elf's head and reached out to the old elf.

_My lord?_

_Well technically you are the leader of our rather splendid little order._

_I don't remember getting that message, _Eragon mused idly.

_Really? Islanzadí installed you and Saphira in Vrael's chambers aye? Upon your very first day in that leafy city. If that is not message enough for you then perhaps I should make you swear the oaths that he did right here and right now?_

_I'm fine thanks …_

_They're still awaiting orders Eragon …_

_I hate being in charge,_ he moaned to Saphira, the eldunarí and Oromis. He got smirks and amusement from all of them in return. "Make for the mouth of the Edda River … we'll sail along the river as we did before and seek contact with the dwarves in Hedarth and the elves in Ceris; find out what's been happening if we can. At Ceris we'll decide what to do and where to go next …"

He turned back to the rapidly approaching land before him and suddenly couldn't wait to get there; though he and Saphira had but recently been home, _this_ time it was for more than a brief visit to right the wrong and be off again. This time they would make their presence known and stay until they were sure everything was fixed and sorted and balanced … even if that meant never leaving again.

Three days later they arrived at the dwarven outpost. Eragon and Adiré stepped ashore to speak briefly with the dwarf in charge before returning and setting sail once again. Hedarth was so far removed from the Beor Mountains that there had been little the overwhelmed captain could tell Eragon, other than they still traded freely with the elves in Ceris and that the elven outpost had become more of a settlement like Hedarth rather than a handful of huts home to a dozen elves given the task of keeping everyone out.

"Well … this should be fun." Oromis said dryly as they sail up river towards Du Weldenvarden that evening. "Although how do you propose to explain to every one of my race how it is I am alive again? And, for that matter, the other races as well?"

Eragon looked at his master, "Why, I was planning on letting you do that ebrithil," he said with a grin, "after all; you're the one whose conquered death."

"I think I liked you better as a boy charged with the impossible. You're wit has only gotten as bad as your father's did …" he shook his head in mock despair.

"Be nice," Eragon chided, before sobering slightly and looking out across the river bank. "But in all honesty Oromis, I became a man the day my uncle died … though I admit I clung to childhood and adolescence until the dragons cured me of Durza's curse."

"You mean until Arya gave you a hard, sharp, cold dose of reality?"

Eragon snorted. "She told you about that then?"

Oromis's eyes sparkled. "Who do you think she ran to after she did it?"

He shook his head and gazed out west where the rest of Alagaësia lay, unaware of his return. No matter what he told himself, he just couldn't shake his fear that time and peace had stolen away his best friend … and he so desperately needed his best friend right then; the prospect of stopping Murtagh and Morzan from whatever it was they were planning and the whole twisted and messed up situation with Lëyri and the issues erupting between Oromis and Glaedr despite his return as well as the unwelcome fact that Durza was once again out there … he needed his best friend to tell him that whatever it was, they'd figure it out together.

He just needed his best friend back beside him once again.

_But are you still that to me, Arya?_

It was funny; he'd only really realised that was what she was to him earlier that day … but in fairness they hadn't ever had a chance to _be_ best friends to one another. The war had seen to that and then when peace arrived so had his decision to leave and hers to stay … they'd never had the opportunity to just be friends and do what friends do together; fighting alongside one another and following each other into danger hardly constituted as normal activities to do with your best friend. And because they hadn't had the chance or the time to be that to the other – to be the very closest and bestest of friends to each other – there had also been no chance in hell of them ever moving beyond friendship into romance despite, perhaps, the obvious feelings and emotions between them that suggested it wouldn't be a dire move to make nor an absolute disaster that would only result in a successfully ruined friendship.

No … all he wanted, right now, was to see his best friend and for her to tell him that he hadn't actually screwed up when he let Murtagh and Thorn go … well she probably would tell him he _had_ screwed up, and then point out the many difficult ways for them to fix the screw up. Together. The phrase '_you'd have done the same for me_' had sprung between them so often in those final months of the war that it had almost become some kind of promise. A promise that they would always be there for the other, no matter what.

He hadn't realised he'd spoken his thoughts aloud and that his master was still there beside him, listening. "I'm confused," Oromis admitted, though he sounded amused too, "do you love her or not?"

Eragon shrugged. "All I know," he said slowly, "is that she means more to me than anyone else ever has – other than Saphira of course."

"Of course …" His master trailed off thoughtfully and remained silent for a while. "Have you heard of du istalrí?" Eragon shook his head, "Well the istalrí – as I'm sure you know _istalrí_ is just another word for _fire_ in the ancient language – Du Istalrí was the name given to the Riders' weak-point – their undoing … yet the person was more than just that; they were also a Rider's strength and purpose and their reason."

"You mean their lovers?"

"Not necessarily," Oromis disagreed, "sometimes they were a family member – a child or sibling – or a close friend. Sometime it was a person the Rider utterly despised … but they shared a bond that went far beyond words and that bond often got the Rider killed – either the istalrí would do it themselves or the Rider would die in place of du istalrí."

Eragon was looking at his master sceptically, "Did you just make all that up?" Oromis looked offended. "Because if not then why did you not warn me that such a person existed out there somewhere?"

He shrugged, "Not every Rider has one, and it would've only distracted you from the task at hand … that and the fact that du istalrí usually end up betraying their Rider for whatever reason would've just disheartened you."

"So what? You think Arya is my istalrí or something?"

"Did I say that? How careless of me …" Eragon looked at Oromis. Death, it seemed, had changed the old Rider somewhat. "You know there is always another explanation for your confused and bewildered feelings for Islanzadí's daughter."

"Oh?"

"You're completely mad."


	13. Rumours

Apparently things had gone relatively smoothly back in Ellesméra in terms of her abdication and Däthedr's subsequent succession. When they'd next spoken five days later, he had informed her – with a perfectly straight face that she was sure had taken him hours to perfect – that the screams of rage from Lord Fiolr and his allies had been heard as far away as Sílthrim. It seemed they weren't counting on Arya so skilfully out-witting them at the last hurdle like that … and since there was no lawful reason why Däthedr could not or should not be king, Fiolr had no grounds to object and place himself or someone he could control upon the Knotted Throne instead. But that had been well over a month ago now, and Däthedr was due to arrive in Ilirea tomorrow to attend the annual meeting of the five nations.

Arya and Fírnen had remained in Ilirea, rejoicing in the fact that they were no longer forced to do anything that they didn't want to do for they were, now, truly Dragon and Rider. Ugly rumours had begun to spread of unease in the south, but they remained – for now – in the shadows, unconfirmed and just that; rumours. Nasuada had told Arya that she planned to address the issue at the meeting with the other monarchs where King Orrin had a chance to confirm or deny them. Arya hadn't told her that she, Jörmundur, Angela and Fírnen were already three steps ahead of her and investigating them.

_Can you quit with the thoughts on politics?_ Fírnen complained. _All you've ever done since abdicating is think about politics … more than when you were actually queen!_

_That's not true and you know it!_ Arya huffed. _But fine; I shall leave the thoughts alone … how high can we go do you think? Eragon told me that when he and Saphira went above the storm on their way to Doru Areaba, they saw the world was round …_

_Let's see if they were right! _Fírnen flapped his wings and angled upwards, climbing ever higher with each movement while Arya sat comfortably in the saddle with her legs strapped in so she wouldn't fall, even without holding on. They rose high, the city of Ilirea below diminishing in size rapidly until it was little more than a splotch on the bank of a silvery rope that curved through the land far, far, terribly far below them. Fírnen rose above the few wisps of tattered clouds and kept climbing … higher and higher … and higher still …

The air became thin and it was hard for them both to breath properly … Arya took consciously shallow breaths as she urged Fírnen to do the same; a great weight seemed to press her down into the saddle and the movements of her dragon's wings became strained and difficult and as if something was holding them back.

_Fírnen …_ Arya said worriedly, but he couldn't hear her. "_Fírnen_!" she yelled with mind and voice before a wave of light-headedness engulfed her … Next thing she knew they were spiralling lazily back towards the earth, considerably lower than they had been last time Arya had checked. _What happened?_

_You blacked out._

_I figured as much out for myself … _

_Eragon and Saphira obviously forgot to mention that they only reached such splendid heights with the aid of spells … if they even got that high up._

_You don't think the world is round then?_

A puff of smoke emitted from the dragon's nostrils as his scepticism radiated through their link. _What does the shape of the world matter to a dragon? So long as we can fly and hunt and know we are the king of the food chain then that is all that matters to us._

_You just don't like the idea of Saphira being able to do something you can't_. Fírnen snorted but didn't deny her comment as he swooped low over the city towards the main citadel amidst the usual cries of 'Argetlam!' and 'Swiftwing!' and 'Shadeslayer!' from the crowds of people in the streets below them.

_Looks like Däthedr has gotten here early,_ Fírnen said and Arya frowned before looking over her dragon's shoulder at the surface of the earth. A large congregation lingered around the main entrance to the stronghold and through Fírnen's eyes she saw that a large number of them had the pointed ears and slanted features typical of her race. _Shall we go and say hello? And congratulate him on his enthronement?_

_I thought you wanted to spend the entire day together?_ Arya asked, _so why are you trying to get rid of me when it is only just noon? Don't condemn me to more tedious politics than necessary! I fear I'll go mad if you do …_ The emerald dragon huffed before spreading his wings further and plunging off into the sky away from Ilirea and the politics therein. They spent the remainder of the day soaring through blue skies and over green hills and generally enjoying each other's company. Fírnen finally swooped in through the open windows of Arya's chambers and settled upon the floor as the moon climbed high into the night. He coaxed his weary Rider off his back and curled up to sleep while she yanked off the saddle and abandoned it where it fell.

_Arya …_

_What?_ She demanded as she clambered into bed. Though they had, in effect, done very little that day, it was tiring being out in the fresh air all the while especially with Fírnen dancing and spiralling through the air in what he was convinced were spectacular aerobatics.

_I love you._

She smiled. _I love you too you big green lump._ And she drifted off with that knowledge and certainty firmly in her heart.

By mid-morning the next day, Arya was fervently wishing she were with her dragon once again as he took advantage of yet another fine summer's day. Even if he was off on one of his hunting expeditions … anything had to be better than the prospect that now faced her; spending the day shut in a room with Nasuada, Orik, Orrin, Nar Garzhvog, Däthedr and their 'trusted' advisors. The one small upside was that the large windows in the council chamber offered a rather spectacular view overlooking the river …

She filled in behind Jörmundur and his limp and took a seat beside Roran Stronghammer; Eragon's cousin had arrived a few day ago with his wife and two sons in order to congratulate Nasuada upon the birth of her daughter, see his own daughter, and give his say in the meeting. "Something tells me you thought abdicating would mean you no longer had to sit through these meetings," he whispered to her.

"No, I just thought my presence wouldn't be necessary …" He chuckled and quickly turned to the front as his queen got to her feet and began to address the two dozen or so gathered in the large room.

"Welcome you all to Ilirea for the seventeenth annual meeting of the five nations. Before we get down to the usual matters, I'd like to first hear from King Orrin in regards to a number of disturbing rumours that have reached our ears." Arya sat up a little straighter; at least this way she only had to pay attention to the beginnings of the tedious talks.

King Orrin of Surda got to his feet. During the war he'd been a slim, but athletic young king with good senses that were often clouded by prejudices and pride. Towards the end of that campaign he'd taken to the bottle and to drowning his sorrows in alcohol. In the intervening time since King Orrin had become something of a drunkard; a portly belly which served to hold all the copious amounts of food and drink he consumed in a day now bulged beneath a chain-mail shirt that had obviously been remade to accommodate his widening girth. But when he was sober – and not hungover – Orrin did still have some decency and admitted his faults, saying he should've listened to Nasuada when she told him to lay off the drink during the war. He swayed as he stood.

"I don't know the extent of the truth myself," he admitted. "Though I have spent the better part of three months doing my best to find out all I can, sadly there is little I can say to enlighten you to the situation."

"What situation?" Nar Garzhvog rumbled. "What are these rumours that have plagued your lands, Lady Nightstalker?"

"I didn't realise they were still calling her that," Roran murmured to Arya.

"Well 'Queen Nightstalker' doesn't exactly have the same ring to it does it?"

His smile was lost in his beard.

Nasuada sighed and Jörmundur surprisingly turned his gaze to Arya. It was a moment before she realised this was her duty; to report and counteract any discontent in the land. That and the veteran knew that Arya was more aware of the situation than he was. She suppressed a groan as she got to her own feet while the other three sat.

"Three weeks ago – shortly after the announcement that Lord Däthedr had become könungr –"

"Könungr?" Someone questioned.

Arya closed her eyes, "Forgive me; _king_. Shortly after that announcement rumours began to surface in the lower city of a disturbance in the south. At first most dismissed them as nothing but stories despite them reaching the citadel here and Jörmundur and myself were all set to publically dismiss them." She paused for a moment, unsure how Nasuada and Orik would react to the next part of her narrative for Angela had persuaded her to keep it quiet until she had returned. "But then a child arrived half-dead from hunger and exhaustion creating an uproar as he stated that his village had been ransacked by a Dragon Rider."

There was a moment of utter silence before everyone jumped to their feet at once and started yelling at the top of their voices. Arya closed her eyes and sighed, letting them rant and rave for several minutes before saying, with the power of the ancient language in her voice, "Malthinae onr theyna!" slowly everyone sat back down in their seats, some – like Roran and Nar Garzhvog – setting their chairs right first. "Hold your silence but for a while longer, please. I have not yet finished." Arya stared around at them all and fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Word reached Angela and myself and so we visited the child, who was being cared for at a healing house by the South Gate. Upon arriving we found the boy ill with fever and close to death. We questioned him but he was too far gone in illness to respond clearly and died before Angela or I could attempt to heal him."

"So you know nothing!" A dwarf demanded, and Arya realised he had gotten to his feet – not that it made any difference.

"_I haven't finished!_" he sat back down. "Angela and I decided that someone had to go and find out what was happening for sure and either confirm or deny the rumours. We also agreed to keep this quiet so as to avoid too much alarm until she had returned with her findings." Arya looked at Nasuada, "That is why I have said nothing as of yet to you, Nasuada; she has not yet returned." Arya threw her gaze around the oval table as Orrin got to his feet once again.

"I have, I am afraid, nothing more to add other than reports of the same rumours involving several villages in the area of Belatona and Feinster. The trouble, it seems, appears to be concentrated around there and heading north rather than south; as if they – whoever _they_ is – are coming to you, Nasuada, here in Ilirea." Silence followed his words.

Lord Fiolr got to his feet, Arya wondered why and how he'd managed to gain a seat in Däthedr's entourage. "Well," he demanded, directing his words to his former queen, "can there be any truth in these rumours?"

In a deadly quiet voice Arya said, "What are you implying Fiolr? That one of my hatchlings has turned against everything that they stand for? Or are you suggesting that Eragon Shadeslayer himself is behind all this?"

He narrowed his eyes. "It was a valid question."

"If you accuse one Rider, you accuse us all Fiolr! Take care in your accusations or I'll let Fírnen incinerate you as he's been longing to do since first meeting you!" Arya relished in her newfound freedom to issue threats like that; as queen she'd been forced to stick to protocol and custom and tradition. As a Rider she was free to insult and offend whoever she wanted in the process of saying and reporting the truth.

But unease had gripped the council chamber at the suggestion that this threat could originate from the east. Panic threatened to engulf her as she saw the direction in which their minds were going and it scared her. She shook her head, her breathing increasing alarmingly and Firnen wasn't anywhere nearby to calm her down. "Eragon would never … he'd never … you _know_ that! He wouldn't …" Any second now she would succumb to the anxiety and Fiolr would accuse _her_ of being behind it all.

"Arya is right," Roran announced abruptly, speaking for the first time in the council, "My brother would _never_ do such a thing – nor would he condone such an act. Until you all realise that then there is little point in us being here!" He then grabbed her upper arm and steered the panicking elf out of the chamber, making sure the door slammed echoingly behind them. Three corridors away he let her go and she stumbled to the wall and sank to the floor with her head between her knees and the anxiety well and truly overwhelming her.

Roran wasn't a stranger to her attacks – she'd had her first one during a visit to Carvahall about a year after Eragon had first left – and he simply sat down on the floor beside her and waited for her to calm down. Eventually her breathing resumed it's normal rate and her hammering chest began to slow as she leant her head against the wall and let out a long, low sigh. "Well that's never happened before."

"Panicking despite no one mentioning the Shade … yeah I thought that was new."

Arya held out her hand to find it shaking; she stared at it in mild interest before clenching her hand into a fist and hugging her knees to her chest. "But they can't think he's behind it all can they? The stupid rumours haven't even been confirmed yet!"

"But there is a valid point," Roran said in a low voice. "All the Riders are with him save for you. And unless you've kept it from us, there has been no new eggs and no new Riders since Yerzogr and Fargoth. If a Dragon Rider is behind this – _if_ – then why?"

Arya shook her head. "I don't believe he's behind this. I don't – for one second – believe that he would be behind this. Not when he lost so much to get us here in the first place."

"Then why did he leave?" Roran shot at her. "Why did he go at the height of his victory?"

Arya glanced at the man beside her in worry, "This is your cousin we're talking about," she reminded him gently. "You and I both know him better than the others in that room; he would not do this."

Roran snorted. "I thought I knew him …"

Arya suddenly got irritated. "Well I knew him – I knew _exactly_ who he was and is. _He would not do this!_"

Eragon's cousin stared at her. "That whole true-name thing huh? Well people change, according to the elves in Carvahall. No one remains who they are forever."

Annoyed and angry, Arya got unsteadily to her feet nearly collapsing due to the numbness in her legs. She clung to the wall for support. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to this! He's your cousin … you grew up with him Roran. How can you so readily believe he's behind all these rumours – that's _if_ they are even true."

She left him sitting against the wall in the corridor and marched through the citadel towards her chambers. Arya refused to believe, even for a minute, that Eragon would do such a thing as the council were all no doubt suggesting. Had they forgotten everything he was capable of? Everything he had done for them? She shook her head in disgust and wished Fírnen was about to calm her agitated thoughts and help her figure out why she had so suddenly panicked when the topic of conversation had been nowhere near Durza and her time in Gil'ead.

Murmuring the word to open the door, Arya slipped inside and made her way to the east facing balcony. Where was he? If there was some problem … some reason for him not sending new eggs through to hatch for Riders then … then why hadn't he contacted them – her? And this mounting sense of something amiss, something so drastically wrong … she shook her head in despair; maybe it was nothing … maybe one of the wild dragon eggs had hatched after all and had decided that humans made for easy and amusing prey …

But she just didn't know.

A knock upon her door startled her and she growled, "Come in," hoping that whoever it was would realised from the tone of her voice that they should just bugger off somewhere and leave her alone right then. They didn't.

"Where's my welcome back party?"

Arya whirled around. "Angela."

"The very same." The witch smiled, duping her luggage on one of the low settees shoved against the wall to make room for Fírnen.

"Well?" the agitated elven Rider demanded. The herbalist's expression turned serious as she faced Arya square on.

"You're not going to like this."

She swore. That sentence was all she needed to hear to know that the rumours were true; that a dragon and Rider were responsible for wreaking havoc upon the south. She swore again in dwarvish, repeating every phrase she knew and improvising some of the lesser ones.

"When you've finished befouling the air," Angela snapped. Arya uttered another choice curse before falling silent. "I can't tell you who, exactly, the Rider is – nor the dragon. I only caught a glimpse of them and it was dark so I can't even say what colour the beast's hide was though it was a dark hue regardless of colour …"

Arya sent out her mind into the surroundings, hoping to stumble across her wayward dragon on his way back from hunting down deer and other such harmless animals to abate his hunger. "Could you tell if they were working alone or if …" she left it hanging, not wanting to even voice what those in the council chambers below were saying.

"I saw no evidence to suggest that Eragon and Saphira are behind this," Angela said kindly. "And nor do I think they have anything to do with it whatsoever. The Rider – whoever it was – and the dragon were far too comfortable in destroying and causing havoc upon innocents. Eragon and Saphira would never condone that – even if there was a reason for them to turn against us they'd never let their Riders be so cruel and evil …"

They remained in silence for a long while until they were startled by Fírnen arriving suddenly, overwhelming both their minds in order to make them jump. He was petty like that at times. _Fírnen! Now is not the time!_ Arya snapped before giving herself over to him completely as he settled down in the space cleared for him.

_Good thing I've just fed myself then isn't it?_

_What do you mean?_

_Well we've got to go and sort this haven't we? Find out who the Dragon and Rider are and either talk them round or kill them._ His bluntness shocked her, until she realised it was a lingering after-effect of his recent hunting; escape from me or die by me.

Angela was watching her intently.

"The others know the basics," Arya said to her as she grabbed Fírnen's saddle and heaved it over to where he lay. "And they know I was waiting for conformation from you as to the situation before I said anything … you'll have to fill them in."

"Oh? And why can't you do that I wonder?"

"Because, as my dragon just pointed out to me, we're the only ones who can reason with this Dragon Rider or stop them." Arya said, buckling the saddle into place and then grabbing her empty pack and stuffing clothes and things she'd need into it. Angela wordlessly gave over her substantial food supply before nodding.

"Fine. Just don't die. That, I must say, would just be depressing. Imagine us having to contact Eragon to tell him 'oh by the way – that elf you were so fond of? Yeah she's dead. Have a nice day!'" Angela quipped before turning to the door. "And mind you watch out for flesh eating slugs!"

_Flesh eating slugs?_

_Ignore her Fírnen._

But as she tied her pack to the back of his saddle and buckled her sword in place upon her hip and her bow slung across her back, Arya suddenly felt afraid; she didn't know what to do. She'd gone into the heart of danger like this many times, but not as a Dragon Rider … and Fírnen had never encountered danger before … the only experience she had fighting another Rider was when she and Fírnen had tutored the hatchlings. What if something happened to him because she didn't know how to protect him? Or because he didn't know how to fight?

_Eragon … I need you._


	14. Pineneedles And Elves

_W__here do you think Blödhgarm went first? Farthen Dûr or Ellesméra?_ Saphira asked as they drifted up towards the elven dock at Ceris.

_Farthen Dûr … he wouldn't have wanted to get swayed to stay in Ellesméra and forget his duty … is that …?_ Up ahead, waiting on the docks stood two elves, one with silver hair and one with black, and Eragon felt the stirring of recognition and a bizarre certainty that this had happened all before – not in the same way perhaps – but the presence of those two elves was a welcome coincidence. He suddenly laughed.

Lifaen and Narí broke out into grins too as they saw the Rider and his dragon. They had guided Eragon, Saphira, Orik and Arya through Du Weldenvarden from Ceris to Ellesméra all those many years ago and time had not altered them; they were as they had remained in Eragon's memories and he was gladder than he realised to see them. Saphira, too, shared in his joy at reuniting with their guides for they were among the most trustworthy and loyal elves to ever serve and protect them both from harm. And – more importantly perhaps – they were friends.

Oromis wondered up beside Eragon, mild curiosity upon his features and Eragon was sure that his master was deliberately acting nonchalant on purpose. A flair for dramatics was an unfortunate side-effect of the bond between a dragon and Rider; the Riders blamed the dragons while the dragons blamed the Riders. Cries of alarm and shock and surprised echoed across the water from Lifaen and Narí and their shouts brought more elves out onto the dock to see what the matter was.

"Now you've done it," Eragon muttered.

Oromis chuckled.

An explanation was demanded almost as soon as the two Riders stepped off the ship and onto firm ground – Eragon swayed slightly as his feet and legs got used to a solid footing rather than the constant swaying of a ship. Oromis held up his hands and spoke in the ancient language, answering the elves' questions in that same mild tone.

"Du Wydra Nángorörh," he said. "I am sure you all know of the legends surrounding it?" they nodded, though Eragon frowned in confusion. "Then do you need much more of an explanation? For the truth you desire was given only to the Riders for a reason."

_I never knew there were tales of Du Wydra Nángorörh,_ Eragon mused to Saphira.

_The elves probably abandoned them when they decided that gods don't exist._

_Probably._ Saphira leapt lightly off the deck of the ship and landed upon the dock. At once all attention was diverted to her as the elves showered her with praises and compliments, which she lapped up accordingly and basked in the attention they gave to her. _And you wonder why there is an aspect about your true name that states your vanity …_

_What about the part of yours that states your reckless and brash?_

He grinned, stepping aside as the elves disembarked from the _Talítha._ Beaum rushed forwards and embraced Lifaen in a warm hug; it was a moment before Eragon remembered Blödhgarm telling him they were brothers. Then Lëyri stepped off the ship. At once the elves forgot about Saphira and instead all crowded round the pregnant elf with wonder upon their faces and awe in their eyes for a child was the most precious of gifts in their culture. Upon the request for the identity of the father, Lëyri's face fell somewhat as she realised there was no way of getting out of the truth; she didn't know.

Narí pushed through the crowd and pulled her into a warm hug. _Is it me or is everyone we know related to someone else we know?_ Saphira asked.

_Seems like it,_ Eragon agreed as he followed behind his master towards Ceris proper. _But Lëyri and Narí are only cousins – as appose to Lifaen and Beaum being brothers._

"We are honoured to have you here, Lord Rider," a female elf said as Eragon sat beside Saphira at the base of a large pine tree.

"It's good to be back," Eragon said when he realised it was _him_ the elf had addressed. "Though we need to reach Ellesméra as soon as we can; events are moving apace and we need to make sure the rulers of these lands are aware of them and the dangers ahead."

"Dangers?" Lifaen asked, "What dangers?"

So a brief explanation was given to the elves of Ceris and it was agreed that Eragon, Oromis and Saphira would depart directly for Ellesméra in the morning while the rest would remain in Ceris for a while before taking the _Talítha _up river to Sílthrim.

"Something has occurred in our capital," Lifaen warned, "though what, precisely word has not yet reached us; all we know is something has happened in Ellesméra."

Oromis frowned, "Thank you, Lifaen-vodhr, your warning is appreciated." But he still looked troubled at news of unease in the elven capital. Eragon too hoped that it was nothing more than court politics as the various families squabbled over control and power of the Knotted Throne. But he was certain Arya and Fírnen were more than a match for whatever petty schemes the lords and ladies had in mind.

_Just think, a few more days and you'll see Fírnen again._

_And you Arya._

Neither tried to hide the overwhelming joy, anticipation, and slight uncertainty at that prospect; it had been sixteen years … anything could've happened in the interim to change them beyond recognition.

An elf emerged from one of the huts, followed by a female with silver hair down to her waist. He recoiled in shock when he saw Eragon and Saphira among the group round the fire. Eragon sprang to his feet. "Blödhgarm!"

The furry elf bowed his head, avoiding his friend's eyes. "Shadeslayer," he murmured touching the first two fingers of his left hand to his lips and beginning the traditional greeting.

A sudden suspicion formed in Eragon's mind then. "You haven't even gotten started on finding if all is well yet have you?" he accused.

Blödhgarm thought about it for a long moment before shaking his head in defeat. "Forgive me … I – I've been … distracted …" he glanced at the female elf at his side and Eragon suddenly burst out laughing at his friend's predicament.

Sobering slightly, Eragon said; "Luckily for you, your task is no longer necessary; I know exactly what is amiss and what is wrong."

"Which is why you are here?"

"Exactly."

The elf nodded and looked round at the others, his eyes widening as he saw Oromis.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Eragon teased. He'd had sixteen years of Blödhgarm winding him up first over Arya, then over Lëyri and then over Arya _and_ Lëyri. Revenge could be sweet at times.

She stepped forwards, "I am Delsá of Ília Fëon. Forgive me, Lord Rider … but you cannot deny the heart when it calls, can you?" Blödhgarm had said the same thing to him once.

Eragon decided not to answer that one.

Oromis was hiding his smile behind his hand as he pretended to cough.

_Elves._ Eragon fumed; _They'll either be so formal and stiff like they've got a pole shoved up their behinds or relaxed and laid back like a river – just flowing through without a care in the world. There is no middle ground with them!_

_Not to mention that they're all hopeless romantics at heart … so long as you have the patience to take about a century to court them first. _Saphira added.

"Where will you go from Ellesméra? Will you wait there or go directly to Ilirea?" Blödhgarm asked as he sat beside the fire with Delsá at his side.

Eragon scratched his jaw, noticing absently that he needed a shave, and looked at his master, who rolled his eyes at Eragon's habit of seeking advice and palming off responsibility to someone else. When Oromis didn't, Eragon answered; "Time is off the essence; we'll inform Ellesméra of the situation and go directly to Ilirea, then to Aberon and from there to Farthen Dûr. Once we've let everyone know, _then_ we can work out where to base ourselves and what we can do next."

Blödhgarm nodded, thinking fast. "It's about five days as the crow flys from here to Ellesméra – sorry as the dragon flys – and then six from Ellesméra to Ilirea. Assuming you linger in Du Weldenvarden's capital for a couple of days, and if the elves of Ceris are agreeable; on elven horseback I can meet you in Ilirea three days after you arrive."

"_We_ can meet them you mean," Delsá corrected.

Lifaen and Narí exchanged a look before Narí nodded, "We have about a dozen or so horses with us here in Ceris: you can leave as Eragon Shadeslayer does in the morning."

"Why do you want to come to Ilirea?" Eragon asked curiously.

Blödhgarm shifted uncomfortably – as if embarrassed about explaining his reasons, but it was Oromis who answered. The old Rider had been staring absently into the flames appearing not to listen to a word that was being said. "Because his duty is to protect you and serve you; when Islanzadí charged him with his task during the war, it wasn't _just_ for the duration of our campaign against Galbatorix. Blödhgarm will go wherever you can and protect you and serve you as best he can for as long as he can. He is onr skölir edoc'sil."

Eragon looked at his friend in a new light, stunned that the elf had agreed to a lifelong servitude to someone who had barely proven himself a man at the time.

"Why … why?" Eragon asked, now rather embarrassed himself that Blödhgarm had chosen to obey and serve him.

The elf shrugged, still avoiding the Rider's eye.

"My father was Vrael's skölir edoc'sil and since you were the last best hope we had …" he shrugged, and gave Eragon a cryptic smile. "I'll admit at first I did begin to regret my decision – until Belatona that is."

_Unconquerable shield … the elves have rather strange terms for things don't they?_ Saphira said to Eragon as she lifted her head up off the ground and stretched her long neck.

_It's all that excessive literature – the metaphors and so forth have leaked through into everyday life and now they much prefer to use cryptic terms to describe someone than straight forward words like normal people. I wonder why Blödhgarm never mentioned this before._

_Probably because he's embarrassed to be seen as a willing subordinate to you. I mean you don't look all that impressive – for someone who's saved the world._

_Ah that's because I don't want to show you up!_ Eragon grinned, _It would hardly do now for the Rider to outlook the dragon now would it?_

Saphira seemed pleased with his answer and hummed deep in her throat as they settled down for the night; Eragon lay on his back, staring through the pineneedles at the stars as they blinked into existence far above him. Finally the black night faded into deep blue and then to the dull lifeless grey of predawn and Eragon stirred, sat up and looked around. Most of the elves that had accompanied him east had returned to the _Talítha _last night, and the elves of Ceris had all taken to their huts. Oromis, however, remained as Eragon had last seen him; staring absently into the now dead fire with an expression of deep thought upon his timeless face.

Not wanting to disturb him, Eragon paced lightly to the ship and into his cabin where he located his belongings, shoving them all hastily back into his pack, the chest where the eldunarí were stored and Saphira's saddle. With difficulty he stepped back onshore and treaded his way through the pines to the campfire where Saphira was stirring. Oromis had stoked up the fire in his absence and an older elf had emerged from one of the huts to prepare breakfast.

The elf glanced curiously at the chest but at the look from both Riders and the low growl from Saphira, he asked no questions despite the curiosity that was no doubt eating him alive. Eragon was thankful Oromis had had the foresight to swear all the elves aboard the _Talítha_ to secrecy regarding the eldunarí. It was a secret he didn't like the world to know about.

_Do with this chest as you would normally do when transporting us_, Glaedr told him. Eragon waited for the elf to step out of sight before quickly murmuring the many phrases in the ancient language that would deposit the chest full of eldunarí in its own personal pocket of space and time. When the elf returned with a large bowl of bright berries, he frowned at the disappearance of the chest he wasn't allowed to know about but said nothing. Oromis disappeared to the ship for his own things and returned a good ten minutes later with his pack over his shoulder.

Eager to be off, the two Riders quickly saddled Saphira and tied their packs in place before turning down breakfast and clambering up her scaly hide to settle in place on her back. _Ready?_ She asked as Eragon gripped the neck spike in front of him, absently remembering how small it had once been, while his master shifted behind him.

"Let us be off, Bjartskular," he said and Saphira leapt into the air, clearing the tops of the pines and heading steadily north-west towards the elven capital, Ellesméra. As Blödhgarm predicted, it took them five days to get there; flying over vast expanses of green pines below them broken by the occasional glade or lake or the lone hill. On the fifth day, Oromis said loudly over the wind; "Most of the wards have been disabled … and I cannot sense the presence of Gilderien the Wise. Either something is amiss here and we are too late, or his presence guarding Ellesméra is no longer required. Though I cannot see a why he would abandon his post when he has guarded the city since Du Fyren Skulblaka."

"He wields the White Flame of Vándil, doesn't he? Which is why he was chosen … can another take his place?" Eragon called back.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Oromis shaking his head. "Not unless they are chosen by the Flame."

_That makes no sense whatsoever_, Saphira remarked.

_There is much I did not get the chance to teach you_, Oromis agreed gently. "If there is time, I shall, of course, rectify that problem." He promised as Saphira settled upon the ground on the outskirts of the city. The two Riders dismounted and Eragon gripped the hilt of his sword while Oromis reached for the bow Eragon had let him borrow. They exchanged a look before turning to the dragon behind them.

_I'll wait for you at the Crags of Tel'naeír._ She said, jumping into the air, _But let me know what is happening here._

_Of course – and be careful!_

_I'm always careful._

Eragon watched her disappear into the sky and forced himself to let go of Brisingr's hilt. He followed Oromis into the city, taking slow deliberate steps as they stuck to the lesser paths and the shadows, wondering where everyone was and why no one was around to welcome them or deny the entry into the pinewood city.

"Let's go find Rhunön," Oromis suggested in a low whisper. "Whatever is going on here, she will have naught to do with it."

"Unless Murtagh and Thorn have been and gone."

Oromis shook his head. "The forest would be burning if that's the case. No this has everything to do with court politics; something has stirred up the court and the common folk are staying indoors until it dies down."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm always right … except for when I'm wrong."

Eragon didn't respond. Instead he drew his blade and took the lead, thanking the skills he'd honed as a boy in Carvahall tracking game deep into the Spine; the patience and stealth required were serving him well now. Twice the two Riders ducked behind bushes and tree trunks as various elves of differing importance hurried through the city. At the dogwood tunnel entrance to Rhunön's forge, they sheathed their weapons and hurried along it, emerging through the other side to find the blacksmith tinkering away with a fine file as she crafted something with diminutive detail. Eragon and Oromis knew better than to interrupt her while she worked and so they sat down and waited patiently for her to finish.

A good hour and a half passed before the elf laid aside her tool and looked up at them. She showed no indication of surprised at their appearance in her workshop; one of them was supposed to be dead while the other far away in the east.

"About time you showed up," she grunted.

"I take it then, that things are bad?" Oromis said mildly.

She grunted again. "Fiolr tried to usurp Arya, so she abdicated instead. Now that fool Däthedr is on the throne and his House's warriors are patrolling the city keeping Fiolr's from taking over. Däthedr took Fiolr with him when he went to Ilirea so the slimy git wouldn't try and usurp _him_. For a fool Däthedr seems to be handling kingship quite well."

Eragon frowned at that bit of news as he relayed it to Saphira. It explained a lot. "Arya was forced to abdicate?"

Oromis glanced at him before shrugging as if it was no big deal, "Islanzadí never wanted her burdened by the crown anyway. She just never figured out a way to actually _tell_ her daughter that before Arya went back to the Varden; she died before she got the chance to talk to Arya about it properly."

Rhunön rolled her eyes, "Speaking of the dead, aren't you supposed to be one of them?"

Oromis smiled. "Du Wydra Nángorörh, Rhunön-elda."

She snorted, "Those bedtime stories! Ha! Well I suppose you'll be wanting _this_ back then won't you?"

Rhunön stormed to the other side of her workshop and rummaged around in a cupboard before straightening up with a cloth wrapped bundle in her arms. She plonked it down carefully on her workbench and proceeded to unwrap the thing. Oromis got to his feet in wonder as his blade, Naegling, was revealed. He shrugged out of the bow Islanzadí had made for Eragon and thrust it into the other Rider's arms as he stepped up to the bench.

"When you fell, Islanzadí had divers retrieve this from the bottom of Isenstar Lake. Since I made it, my claim to it was the soundest and so Arya gave it me." She gave Oromis a long hard look, "But I suppose I could let you have it back … that's if you think you'll be needing it of course."

"I'm afraid so," Oromis said gravely. "For the murderer Morzan walked the path before me and has joined his son against us. Also the fiend Durza is once more abroad in the world. I fear I will have need of my blade before this is done."

The blacksmith nodded. "I assume you want all your previous wards upon it? Those to defend you when you have your episodes?"

Both Eragon and Oromis frowned at that and shared another look. "Ebrithil," Eragon said then even as his master thought the words himself, "In all the time you have been back – I have not seen you suffer once from your malady."

He was staring out of the window. "No," he said softly, "I have not have I?" Then he spun on his heel and said to Eragon; "Stop me," and before Eragon had a chance to work out what he meant, Oromis had uttered deeply in the ancient language three words of power and Eragon's legs were bound in place with an invisible force.

He was reminded wryly of one of his first lessons with Oromis when he had tested the elf's patience too much only for the elf's power to be denied him. Gritting his teeth, Eragon dug into his own flow of energy and said, "brakka du vanyalí se huildar eka," and felt the power leave him. He stared at his master as it came down to a battle of wills between them as Oromis strove to test himself and push himself into one of the episodes that was the result of being broken by the Forsworn. Sweat formed on Eragon's brow as he struggled with maintaining the spell to counteract Oromis's and he refused aid from Saphira when she offered it for that would only be unfair to their master since Glaedr was steadfast ignoring him.

Finally, Eragon had to give up the magic lest it consume him and with a gasp he severed the flow and stood there, held in place by Oromis's spell, panting. They'd been battling it out for a good half hour and Rhunön had gotten bored for she was busy with the sculpture she'd been working on earlier when Eragon and Oromis had arrived. With a gasp Oromis stopped the spell and staggered to the chair, as Eragon – not prepared for the sudden release – collapsed onto the floor.

_I think he won._ Saphira remarked smugly.

_I think he is cured._

_Well … that too._


	15. Tis I: Bromsson

_A__re you sure it's wise leaving the eggs with Rhunön?_

"Only Eragon or I can actually _open_ the vault Saphira. She's just standing guard the entrance until we have sorted this issue … though I am surprised that more of the eldunarí didn't want to aid us." They were once again flying above the pines, this time heading south to Ilirea.

_To be fair, most of them did perish when we closed the breach. They probably don't want to risk perishing like the others did._

"Did you find out what happened to Gilderien?" Oromis asked Eragon. He shook his head.

"No. No one seemed to realise he was missing. I tasked Lady Gilá with finding out what happened to him, but she was reluctant to pull her warriors out of the city … understandable I suppose; Däthedr still has to consolidate his position upon that throne." Eragon scratched absently at his arm as a gust of wind buffeted him slightly. "It didn't take you long to create the vault then?"

After establishing that Oromis was indeed crippled no more, they had beseeched Rhunön into watching over the dragon eggs and eldunarí while they set off to stop Murtagh and Thorn in whatever foul deeds they had planned. Eragon had departed to find out the situation of the elven court, the fate of Ellesméra's guardian and the whereabouts of that emerald green dragon and his Rider. While he'd been roaming Tialdarí Hall, Oromis had used the time to sing the roots of the dogwood trees of Rhunön's tunnel into a vault beneath the surface of the earth so they'd have a temporary place to hide and store the dragon eggs and eldunarí. Infusing the surrounding area with wards and other protective spells that fed off the life of the plants in the forest, Oromis had ensured the safety of the unhatched dragons and the consciousness's of the long departed dragons of old.

"Not as long as I thought; though Rhunön was more a hindrance than a help; I take it Brisingr passed her inspection with flying colours."

Eragon grunted. "I think she just wanted an excuse to see it and hold it again."

"Probably," Oromis agreed, "She surpassed herself in the creation of that sword … even if she had to go about it through you."

They didn't speak much over the next few days; all three of them were eager to reach their destination and the near constant travel over the past weeks was wearing both Eragon and Saphira down. They needed a rest and a respite. Thankfully they encountered no storms or foul weather as they crossed the desert and the warm air coming off the desert floor wafted Saphira higher and further than she could've flown unaided.

On the sixth day the city of Ilirea came into view; rebuilt and splendid in the bright light of the morning sun and the Ramr River glinting beside it as it flowed past without pausing to stop and look upon the beauty of Ilirea. "You wouldn't believe it's been less than two decades since that city was known as The Black City of Urû'baen." Eragon marvelled.

"Aye, it is amazing what can be achieved in a short space of time when one put one's mind to it."

By mid-morning Saphira was wafting gently over the battlements and ramparts of the outer walls while below cries of wonder, awe, fear and alarm were spread. It was as if the appearance of such a legendary Dragon and Rider was too good to be true that it rendered those in the streets speechless and incapable. Saphira settled down upon the courtyard before the citadel and watched as the vast doors opened and a hoard of people spilled out down the steps towards them.

"I shall wait here," Oromis murmured. "Try and direct them to some hall or chamber where we can discuss everything in private. Once you have the destination Saphira and I will meet you there." Eragon nodded as he unbuckled the straps holding his legs in place. "Here, put this on; it'll make you look more impressive. Oromis handed him a wealth of light sapphire material that Eragon realised was a cloak. He fastened it under his throat and swung his leg over the saddle's pommel so he was sitting side saddle.

_Good luck, little one. _Eragon jumped to the floor, landing in a crouch and straightened, the gentle breeze stirring the light material of his new cloak as Saphira launched herself into the air again. _Keep a look out for Fírnen – I don't sense him or Arya nearby_.

With his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword, Eragon watched as the crowd reached the bottom of the stairs and halted, clearly waiting for him to come to them. However Eragon stood his ground and in the test of patience, he won as Nasuada, Orik, Orrin, Nar Garzhvog and Däthedr strode forwards to him. He sighed inwardly at the looks on their faces and at the prospect of a long and tedious strain of formalities; they didn't have time to dawdle.

"Is it really you?" Nasuada asked as she and the other leaders stopped a few feet from Eragon. He looked at them all – time had altered them in differing ways. Orrin had gotten fat, Nasuada older, Orik gruffer, Garzhvog wearier, and Däthedr just looked tiered.

He bowed, not in a way that suggested he was beneath them, but that said he was honouring them; in his native tongue – which he hadn't spoken in sixteen years – he said; "Aye, 'tis I: Bromsson. Eragon Shadeslayer … Lord Rider they call me … and Firesword … but yes. It is I; for I have indeed returned."

They all looked as if there was about a hundred thousand things they wanted to say to him at once, but he simply held up his hand, forestalling them. "We have, I know, years of catching up to do but now is not the time. All is far from well in Alagaësia – which is why Saphira and I have come back to you now – and much must be done to put it right once more." He looked around, unable to hold off the question any longer and hoping they didn't all jump immediately to the conclusion that was his only reason for being there. "Where is Arya and Fírnen?"

A frown creased Nasuada's face at that question, though mirth did shine in her eyes briefly before hand – the reasoning unfathomable to Eragon. "We have much to tell you; we'll go directly to the council chamber – come, _Lord Rider_."

Eragon followed them as they wove through the corridors of the castle. Saphira and Oromis had found another way into the chamber and were already waiting for them there. Nasuada was talking to Orik, who was nodding while Däthedr seemed reluctant. When they reached the room in question, Eragon waited for the cries of shock when Oromis was spotted for the first time and sure enough, as soon as the first elf stepped inside, a cry rang forth and pandemonium sprung up as everyone crowded in to see what the problem was.

Eragon slipped unnoticed inside and saw his master sitting, seemingly at ease, at one end of a large oval table that took up the entire room. Weaving through the crowd, Eragon sat down a few seats along from him while Saphira curled up into a comfortable position on the floor to watch the proceedings. Taking his cue from Oromis, Eragon remained silent as the group all spluttered and yelled and cried out and demanded in loud voices an explanation. Trouble was it was difficult to hear anything over all the noise, and the panic needed to run its course before they could listen fully. Eventually the noise subsided as, one by one, everyone took their seats at the oval table and turned expectantly to the two Riders and the dragon.

"Well?"

Eragon looked up at that and sort out the source of the demand. Lord Fiolr.

_Idiot should never have forced Arya off that throne. He should've known she'd never let him take it himself._ Saphira muttered.

Eragon shrugged, "I'm still waiting for a response to my question Fiolr so you'll just have to wait won't you?"

"What question?" Oromis asked curiously.

"I asked where Arya and Fírnen are for we were told that they were here, but clearly they are not else we would've encountered them by now."

Nasuada got to her feet, smoothing out her dress and turning to Eragon. "We've had reports of unsettling news from the south," she began. "A Dragon Rider terrorising villages and towns. Arya and Fírnen have gone to deal with the situation."

There was a resounding silence after she finished and everyone stared intently at Eragon, Oromis and Saphira.

"If I didn't know better," Eragon said softly yet with a definite hard edge to his voice, "I'd say that was an accusation, wouldn't you ebrithil?"

"The implications were that it was," Oromis agreed.

Eragon rose slowly to his feet and looked at the rulers and their advisors; he was livid. How dare they … how dare they assume that – just because a Rider and dragon were creating havoc – he was behind it, that he was responsible for it? How dare they chose the easy option – the one that didn't have to be thought about too much – and blame him? How dare they decide that because he was not there to defend himself he must be guilty? Had they forgotten everything he had done for them? They wouldn't be sitting there if it wasn't for him!

_Don't get too angry … they're just afraid_. Oromis said gently.

_Of what?_

_That they're facing the unknown. Blaming you, they have a face to the enemy – they can pretend they know what they're up against. It's nothing personal._

_You don't know that!_

_Steady … you're the Lord Rider remember, you're above rash and impulsive behaviour._ Saphira snorted in amusement at that.

Eragon took a deep breath and stared hard at them all as they cowered slightly in their seats. "_Why are you accusing me!_" he said in a deadly quiet voice. He had a feeling they would've preferred it if he'd shouted. He strove to let every ounce of rage, disappointment and annoyance flow into his voice as he'd spoken and the effect seemed to be what he wanted. Shame dripped off their faces as they realised how pathetic and stupid they'd been with their charges. He let them wallow in their own self-pity for a while before continuing as if the allegations had never been placed.

"You want explanations; I appreciate that. But know that I cannot give them all to you for this involves secrets that only the Riders know of – and perhaps should've been kept even from us." He looked round, "But know this then at least, for now; you seek for a name to put behind all this – a face you can accuse. Then here it is; Murtagh. Murtagh and Thorn are even now planning and plotting to bring us down – why, I do not know and how? How I cannot say for I do not know that either."

Unease gripped the room as muttering began to spread, originating from the dwarves and spreading like wildfire. "I know." Eragon said somewhat sharply. "I forgot about them too … I – I believed they'd turned aside from the road of evil …" he looked down at the table and sighed, "It seems I was wrong. Forgive me … I was wrong."

He sat down. Oromis looked at him speculatively before nodding in approval. _Very well done, Bromsson_, Umaroth the eldunarí said to him. _But you do owe them a full explanation sometime; it is unwise to keep them in the dark._

_It is also unfair to give them answers before we give them to Arya and Fírnen; they deserve them more than these rulers do ebrithil._

_That and Arya will slap you if you tell anyone before you tell her_, Saphira added. _How are we going to explain Oromis?_

_Ah hello,_ their master said, joining in the mental conversation while the council all debated the news that it was Murtagh behind it all. _I was wondering if you had any bright ideas about that since you don't want to risk angering onr istalrí_.

Eragon ignored him.

_We don't know she is his istalrí Oromis._ Eragon, Saphira, Umaroth and Oromis froze as Glaedr spoke directly to his Rider for the first time; however he quickly returned to himself and ignored all forms of contact from any of them. Eragon could see the hurt flicker across his master's face and felt a pang of sympathy that wasn't enough for he could not possibly understand.

At a demand from the elves in particular at _how_ it could be that Oromis was sitting easily in a chair at the table, Eragon and Saphira fended Däthedr off with vague hints and explanations that basically all meant that it was secret that the belonged to the Riders and that to tell him – or anyone outside the order – would instantly kill them all because that was the way Eragon Peacebringer had constructed the spells surrounding the secrets. Eragon was thankful they weren't conversing in the ancient language for he doubted that he'd have gotten past the first sentence if they had been.

Later that evening, Eragon and Saphira were lazing in a lounge three floors above the council chamber after having discarded their belongings in the Riders' rooms at the very top of the stronghold. He'd bathed and eaten while Saphira had ransacked the animal pens by the kitchen for a live cow or two; Oromis had disappeared into the library when they'd strolled past it and Eragon had decided to leave him to it. When questioned about it, the old elf wasn't at all surprised that Arya had become the third Rider of the eggs in Galbatorix's possession. In fact he'd wondered off into the library musing aloud at why Saphira hadn't hatched for her and chosen Eragon instead.

They weren't alone in the room; Roran, Katrina, Nasuada, Baldor, Horst and Elene, Orik and his wife Hvedra, and Angela were all sitting talking with their various children – or at least Roran's children and Nasuada's children. It had been very hard to maintain a straight face when he had been informed that one of his closest childhood friends had married the leader of the Varden. He'd also taken three steps back when offered a chance to hold the infant princess Orianah; he didn't think he'd be able to curb the bitterness at being denied a child of his own if he did.

Roran's two sons – twins by the names of Garrow and Cadoc – and Nasuada's son Ajihad were all staring at Eragon with the rapt and awe filled looks of boys who couldn't quite believe that they were finally meeting their hero. It reminded him of the way Adiré had sometimes behaved when they'd first set out on their journey for the east. To say that the attention unnerved him was the biggest understatement of the century.

Ismira and Hope were currently keeping the infant Orianah occupied while the boys – though the twins weren't much more than eight and Ajihad considerably older – sat with carved wooden figures of soldiers before the cold fire grate as they did war upon one another. The werecat Solembum was curled up between Cadoc and Garrow, his tail flickering occasionally, watching the game without much interest. Saphira was pretending to be asleep.

He spent the remainder of the day attempting to re-establish his connection to his family and friends and tried not to slip too much into the 'elfish' habits he'd picked up during his sixteen year self-imposed-exile with Blödhgarm and the others. If he backslided then then the humans and dwarves in the room didn't make an issue of it and carried on the conversation in the knowledge that he'd return to it when he was ready. If he was truthful he now understood why it was Oromis had chosen to hide out in the library; after the company of very few for so long, large crowds and a diverse mixture of races and backgrounds was like him being tossed into the middle of a battle field … naked and with no means to defend himself.

That night he tossed and turned in the soft feather bed, finding it too comfortable for his liking; when he lay in his bed in the cabin of the ship, he could feel the hardness of the bed frame through the mattress. Eventually he got up and settled down beside Saphira, staring out of the full length open windows at the starry night while sounds of life flittered up through to him and owls hooted and the odd wolf howled.

Next day he spent determined to drag Oromis away from the books and scrolls knowing that so long as he remained there, the more rumours and discontent would be spread about his return and the validity of it. Eragon therefore took the time to introduce his master to his friends and family and to the rulers of the lands they were currently residing in. All through the day however, worry and concern gnawed at Eragon's gut as no word reached Ilirea from the south. Saphira too was anxious and uneasy about the silence from Arya and Fírnen; and they both decided to wait another day before flying out to find them.

As he'd predicted, Blödhgarm arrived the following day with Delsá, though much to Eragon's surprise, they were also accompanied by Lifaen, Narí, Lëyri and Adiré. Eragon sought out the company of his dragon as the women all crowded round the pregnant elf as if it were a novelty – which it was. It wouldn't take long, he realised dully, for stories and gossip to spread about his involvement with Lëyri and how she had kept from him the fact that the child wasn't actually Eragon's. Sure enough his cousin and foster brother sought him out before the day was done and asked for his version of events.

Orik sighed heavily when Eragon finished and leant back in his chair as the three of them sat upon a balcony off some hall in the southern part of the keep. Roran reached for the mead and refilled their goblets as Eragon waited for their verdict.

"Well … at least you don't have the prospect of fathering a bastard upon you," Roran said without thinking and Eragon grew irritated at once.

"Oh? And what am I Roran?" he shook his head and got to his feet and leant against the balcony wall while Orik explained a few things to the Earl of Palencar Valley.

"Elves don't marry," he said. "They just take mates for a long as they want – a day or a century. Think about it though, if you were immortal like that, do you honestly think you could stand being married to the same woman for centuries and centuries?"

"Yes." He said at once and Eragon snorted.

"Oh so Katrina doesn't have any habits that drive you close to insane then?" Orik quipped. "Even mine own people are far less concerned about whether or not a child is born out of wedlock or not and the legitimacy of the child; at the end of the day a son is a son and if you give him the chance he'll do you proud. Look at Eragon here; champion of bastards he is!"

But Eragon wasn't listening. _Nothing?_ He asked Saphira.

_No sign of them. _

_Then we'll go find them tomorrow_. Eragon promised, not really seeing the southern landscape before him as Roran and Orik continued their debate behind him. The sun was setting to his right, staining the river red and casting long shadows across the plains of Ilirea. Evander had died out there, Eragon mused, and then a century later that battle field had claimed his mate, Islanzadí as she fought the same battle he had, only that time they'd won.

It was sometime before he realised what it was he was seeing; far in the distance a shape was speeding rapidly through the sunset towards the city, flying faster than any bird could. Only when a good ten minutes had passed did Eragon make out the shape into something recognisable and his heart leapt. Either it was them or it was danger. _Saphira!_

_I see!_

He jumped up and stood, balanced perfectly, upon the narrow wall of the balcony as he watched the dragon speed ever closer. He gripped Brisingr firmly in his right hand, though he did not draw the blade. Another ten minutes and he swore he'd seen a glimpse of green from the dragon's scales … if Orik and Roran were still there behind him they'd long fallen into silence or gone. After watching the dragon for another half an hour Eragon was certain there was no threat. He released his hold on his sword and smiled as Saphira's eyes confirmed what he'd knew. It was them.

_And what adventures have you been up to my friend? And how dare you embark upon them without me!_


End file.
